A Long Day's Journey into Night
by Leonaria Dragonbane
Summary: Victor is locked up in an oubliette with a mysterious companion. Will his life story keep them both sane, as they wait to see what their captors want, or will it drive them both into madness. Victor/OC/OC/OC/OC...just read it. Finished, not exactly how I planned, but somehow mystery prevailed.
1. Chapter 1

A/N No one shoot me, I am still working on the others, but you know when I get a new idea I have to get it out.

This will be both epic - and use some ideas I've used in some of my other pieces, so if there is anything familiar, no this is not a continuation, nor is it related to anything else I've written (or Marvel for that matter).

I don't own Victor, Logan or any other mutants (or non-mutants) that are referenced in this piece that are owned by Marvel Comics, however I will, as usual claim my own creations, both light and dark, tragic and comedic, human, mutant or otherwise.

I know others have called some of my other works epic but this will span 182 + years, and multiple points in history, so be warned, there will be death and destruction, lemons and lemon aide, blood and hate, and somewhere along the road redemption and destruction.

Not for the faint at heart.

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He sat in the damp underground room, chained to a wall, a muzzle over his face, wearing nothing but a single rag tied around his waist. He wanted to roar his defiance, growl his anger, but all he could do was whimper. Whimper because, day in and day out, he was reminded of how frail he'd once been, how tortured, how hated. For the first time since getting out of that cellar the first time, he felt broken, frail, and - admitting it only in the deepest recesses of his mind - afraid.

He had been down here, by his best reckoning, two months, at least he hoped they were throwing food in once per day. If not it could be longer. Every time he tried to sleep his mind was assaulted by the memories of his younger self, tormented by feelings he'd refused to acknowledge from the moment his bastard of a father released him from that damned cellar to help look after the damned Howlett boy.

He wasn't feeling charitable today, James had been both his salvation from darkness, and his jailor in a different type of prison. One where he had to be polite to his father's whore, and to the man they were cuckolding, had to pretend he gave a shit about a screaming baby that grew into his oh so blessed brother.

Sometimes he hated Jimmy, everything seemed to work out for him. Hell, he'd lost his damned memory, his life, and landed at Xavier's with a damned frail that worshiped the ground he fucking walked on. Other times he remembered what it was like to change his stinking knappies and wipe his snotty nose, and Victor pitied James, never really knowing who he was. And the times, like when he'd taught the Runt to fish, and that strange warm feeling of pride when Jimmy landed that damned perch.

He heard the door at the end of the row of rooms open, must be feeding time again. He scratched another mark on the line of marks on the wall. As he cleaned the stone dust from under his claw he caught the scent. Female, drugged, yet a scent that should be wild and free. He growled low as he heard the dragging of feet or other body parts, and the door to the room next to his creak open. A slight "oof" as they dropped her form on the floor the rattle of chains, and a few crude jokes and the sound of something wet hitting flesh.

"Stupid mutie bitch." He heard one of the guards say. "Hope the Man gets tired of you quick, I want a nice long go at ya." The sound of phlegm in the back of someone's throat, and again the sound of wet hitting flesh.

He made note of the scent and voice. When he got out of here, he'd get his revenge. He didn't give a shit about the frail, he just wanted to remember who was such an asshole, they didn't deserve to keep breathing.

The footsteps paused at his door, and he heard a chuckle. "Won't be long now. Oh how the mighty will fall." The same voice said as the food slot opened and the paper-wrapped bundle flew into the room it landed within a well defined mark on the floor, but he still didn't move. He remembered the torment and humiliation of moving too soon to grab the food and having it snatched from his claws to the sound of laughter.

They waited about five minutes. "Maybe the girl will play nice, this one's no fun anymore."

He heard the footsteps and the slam of the rusted door at the end of the hallway slam shut and lock. The doors were old and rusted but the chains, the D rings and wall mounts bolted into the solid granite walls were all new. The shackles themselves were old, but in excellent condition, with screw locks that he couldn't pick with his talon nails. The entire setup was ideal for keeping a mutant like him prisoner.

It wouldn't have held him if Stryker'd given him the metal like he promised, but that was in the past, and nothing to dwell on now.

A moan from next door startled him. He bit back a yelp of surprise and instead let out a warning growl as he rose to his knees, the ceiling only allowing him to crawl on the floor. He reached the bundle and sniffed. Bologna and some form of cheese, and surprisingly a bottle of water.

Thirst had been his biggest agony in this place, they rarely included liquid in his food bundle. The bottle was thin plastic, nothing he could use to escape, it didn't have a screw on lid. Just a seam where the lid would have been. They'd sealed it somehow after cutting off the normal opening. He stuck a thumb claw through the top and took a slow scent. He didn't smell anything but water, but his first sip was cautious just the same.

He waited, sometimes they put poison in the food and laughed as he writhed in agony until his healing purged the poison from his body. So far no ill effects. He grabbed the sandwich, only one, barely enough to give him enough calories for his healing to keep working. He debated saving it, knowing that he'd just feel even more hungry if he ate it now. If he saved it, and ate it with tomorrow's meal he might actually feel full enough to try to sleep.

Another moan from next door, and he let out another growl. He wondered if they'd left the frail food, and started trying to plot how to get his hands on it. He finished the sandwich in three bites, but continued to drink the water slowly, he didn't want to drink it too fast and end up wasting it on the floor when he threw up.

He could feel his dry as leather tongue move a little more freely in his mouth as his body absorbed the water a little bit at a time. He curled up against the only wall he could reach, the one adjoining the frail, and tried to keep from shivering. Eating raised his core temperature, and he was always cold after a food bundle.

He heard small sounds of movement in the cell next to him, chains clanging from small movements, the brush of cloth against cold, hard stone, the brush of something softer, hair maybe moving against skin, another moan and louder chains rattling as the frail moved.

His own chains ground against each other as he pulled himself to a sitting position.

"Who's there?" Her voice had a strange lilt to it, but he couldn't place it. He growled at her, he didn't need some frail being a chatterbox. Suddenly, it occurred to him that they put her here deliberately to torment him more.

"Please, answer me, is anyone there?"

He took a deep breath, and another sip on the precious water. He heard sobs from the other side of the wall, and growled again. Stupid frails and their stupid tears. He wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up, but his mouth couldn't seem to remember how to form the words.

"I can smell you, I can hear you breathing, just say SOMETHING." She screamed the last, both loudly and shrilly enough to hurt his ears. He started a growl that actually turned into words.

"Grrrrut the fuck up." He surprised himself.

"What?"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Each word was a struggle, but he knew the message was clear, leave him the fuck alone.

"Please, who are you? Where am I? How did I get here? What do they want with me?" The last was cut off by a sob.

"Bitch, shut the fuck up. It was nice and quiet here before you showed up, and I want it to be that way again." He growled.

He ignored her questions, he didn't know the answers, and doubted she'd like to hear 'I don't know.'

"Please..." It was a strangled sob. He knew he wouldn't get much sleep until she figured things out, stupid damned frails and their stupid damned questions.

She finally settled down to quiet hiccups and breathing, and he leaned his back against the wall. His eyes started to drift shut.

"My name is Kaitlyn McCauslin, I was sleeping in my room at school this morning. I don't know why I'm here. Maybe ransom, my dad's fairly rich, but I don't see why they'd kidnap me." He growled, he didn't know either. The group holding them didn't really seem to need money, as their facility seemed to indicate. He knew the rooms they were in were called oubliettes, places to put people to forget about them, that put them in some sort of late medieval castle or fortress. He'd bet anything the very slight hum he heard every once in a while was some kind of low light surveillance camera inside the cell, and the sedatives, just to knock him out and take him from a Parisian hotel room had to have cost a small fortune. They had to be genetically designed, no other sedative would work on his metabolism.

He heard a jerk on the chains through the wall, and a whimper. He could smell her better where he was sitting and turned to run his fingers over the wall. He found a small crack, barely large enough to fit his smallest finger through, but her scent was coming through it.

He felt his jaw tense, his teeth grinding against each other as he analyzed her scent. Fear he expected, even some anger, but it was the lack of pain that caused him to question what he smelled.

"Are you a mutant?" He ground the question out between his clenched teeth. He didn't want the frail to think he was in the least bit interested in talking, but his curiosity was going to drive him insane if he didn't ask.

"Yes." The word was a whisper.

"You heal?"

"Yes." It was a little stronger.

"Anything else." His throat was starting to itch, and the tickle made him cough.

"Sight, smell, taste, hearing. Touch too, can't stand wearing anything that isn't a natural fiber, makes my skin raw." He nodded, his too.

He remembered Jimmy giving him a hard time about tanning hides until they were butter soft. When Jimmy's skin started to become sensitive, Victor had laughed his ass off at the chafe marks on his brother's skin from fabric that was too rough.

"Agility and strength too?" He asked.

"Yes"

He nodded again, he thought her scent was familiar, she smelled a little like him, and Jimmy, and every other feral he'd ever met.

"What's your name?" The question was more of a plea.

"None of your damned business, now shut the fuck up, I'm tryin ta sleep."

He closed his eyes, not that it mattered much, there was a little dim light that came in the door, and there must be some cracks in the walls that let light in. He had enough that his heightened sight could pick out rough shapes, and identify what was thrown into the cell.

The darkness behind his eyes soon filled with images and memories, good ones, the ones that helped him stay sane.

He was in his thirties, the War Between the States was raging in full glory. He remembered riding up on the half burned house. He didn't even realize he was talking out loud.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Just to be clear this is Victor talking about what is going on inside his head, while the other prisoner listens, but he's not really talking to her, more like rambling out loud while he has water, trying to keep his newly recovered ability to speak.

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The horse was skittish as they rode up what had once been a grand driveway, now it was choked with weeds and debris from the war. He kept the horse on a tight reign; he didn't need the animal spooking on him.

The drive curved, keeping the partial stone building from view, but he could smell the old smoke and charred lumber. He could smell something else too, a frail. As he guided the horse silently, he caught a furtive movement to his left. He raised his hand in signal to Jimmy behind him, and dismounted to track that movement. He caught her about the waist and dragged her into the shadow of some overhanging moss. He could hear Jimmy with the horses nearby, keeping them silent as well.

He watched as the scavengers slipped out of the woods, one or two at a time. He knew those men or others like them. They'd take off on a "scouting mission" and then a few days later, he and Jimmy would find their leavings, mostly women half starved by war and grief, raped and killed, or worse left to die. He and Jimmy had to shoot two yesterday, they'd been left tied to stakes in the ground, nothing left that identified them as human but their eyes, eyes that had looked up at him in gratitude as he pointed his gun at her head.

The waif in his arms struggled and bit down on the fingers covering her mouth. He just grinned. This one had fire left in her; this one might be worth saving. He tightened his hand across her lips, and pointed to the men in uniforms so dusty you almost couldn't tell they were blue. He whispered softly in her ear.

"Quiet or they'll make short work of ya, frail." She wiggled, but didn't bite him again. At least three of them had been involved in yesterday's mess, and he aimed to kill at least those three. He felt the feather-light touch that signaled his brother behind him, and he pulled back deeper into the low hanging moss.

Jimmy took one look at what he was holding, and clipped her on the head with the butt of his pistol. Victor eased her across the front of his horse, and loosely tied her hands and feet together under the horse's body. She'd be safe, for now, as he checked her breathing and pulse; now for a little bloodshed.

The two brothers slipped up behind the group as they looked for anything they could retrieve from the wreckage of the once palatial home. Victor stalked, on all fours, tracking the one whose scent on the bodies had been the strongest. He could tolerate a little fun, but what these men had done to those women was brutal even by his standards.

He found the man in a small garden, pulling up carrots, and kicking up bunches of potatoes. Victor gave the only warning, a low growl, and pounced, his claws extending as he sailed through the air, and ripped through the man's throat in one swipe. He watched as his victim gurgled and tried to scream without a voice-box or air pipe. Victor smiled and he watched the man topple over. Clean, silent kill, no blood on him to trace with hounds, and he turned, catching the scent of number two. He heard a strangled moan as number three dropped off of Jimmy's claws.

The two brothers nodded at each other and began to circle two, like the predators they were. Victor didn't care who got the kill, they still had the frail to deal with. When Victor saw Jimmy lunge for and grapple with the second man, he turned and ran back to where the horses were tied. The frail was still out cold, and he swung up onto the horse. They had a small camp two days ride inland, and at least a week before they were supposed to check back in with their unit. This was why they volunteered for scouting duty. He grinned as he picked his way carefully back down the drive. All and all he was pleased with himself today.

The sound of Jimmy's horse behind him gave him a sense of security. He knew they'd make the camp, and find a way to send her someplace safe, just like the others they'd found. The march south had been brutal on the countryside, and the people who lived there. Victor had no problems killing grey backs, but the way the old, the sick, the cubs and the frails were treated made something burn inside him. He was starting to hate General Sherman and his orders to kill and burn anything in their path.

He felt the horse's skittishness before she started to stir. He signaled Jimmy they needed to stop, and he found a small clearing off the road. She was just starting to flutter her eyelashes before waking as he cut the rope binding her to the horse. He slid her down, onto the ground and she landed with a startled "oof."

He grabbed the canteen from the back of his saddle as Jimmy got the ropes off her wrists and ankles.

"Who are you?" She said, her voice trembling with the fear he smelled.

"Captain Victor Creed and Captain James Howlett, ma'am." Victor said as he handed her the canteen to take a sip.

She took it, and raised it to her mouth as he reached into the pack on the back of the horse and pulled out some cheese and bread. He handed it to her, and she snatched it as if she thought he'd take it away.

"You're Yankees?"

"Yes ma'am." Jimmy said.

"Why'd ya save me then?" Victor was impressed. She was still afraid, but her mind was still working.

"We've seen what those scavengers do to frails like you." He said, coldly. "Had ta put two out of their misery yesterday."

She just nodded.

"We got a camp, 'bout a day and a half ride. We'll get ya a pack of supplies and money, send ya north ta Philadelphia. Got a friend there, name a Otis Jenkins, he and his wife run a boarding house. You ain't the first ta show up with a note from us and money for room and board."

She took a few more sips from the canteen and bit off some of the bread. He could tell she hadn't eaten in days.

"I know what they do…my girl, Dedra got took, bout four days ago." She said as she put a piece of the sharp cheese in her mouth. "She was one of the last of the slaves ta stay."

"Can ya ride?" Victor asked, the horses were getting impatient, and he didn't want to be this close to the men they'd killed.

"Yes."

He mounted his horse and held out his hand. She put her foot on top of his and hoisted herself up behind him. He felt her arms slide around his waist and he tried to ignore the insistent pressure in his pants. This frail was different, not like the others. This one sill had enough spirit in her to fight, and she was able to think through her fear. She had guts, and he respected guts in anyone, even a frail.

Jimmy just shook his head, and mounted up, and the three rode in silence, trying to stick to back trails or to ride just off the road, and as quietly as possible and still make good time.

They made it to the main camp in good time, and all three were exhausted, as were the horses. Victor could smell that no one had found it, but still held back while Jimmy checked everything.

"All clear." His brother's voice rang. Victor rode in, and helped the frail off the back of the horse. He dismounted and took the reigns of Jimmy's horse and secured them to a nearby tree. He picked up a feed pouch and poured oats into it from a small bag. They had enough feed left for one to two days for the horses, and then they were going to have to go and check in.

He was seriously considering their commanding officer's remark about mustering out. They'd been in the war for almost 3 years now, and the farm was probably weed grown by now. At least one of them needed to go back, and see what needed to be done. He finished feeding the animals and turned. The frail was poking at the fire pit, and the small fired Jimmy started from the wood they'd gathered before they left. There was just enough to get a fire started, and they were had to gather more before the chill night set in.

Victor ignored the frail and stalked off into the woods. He was breaking a large tree limb down into manageable pieces when he felt rather than heard Jimmy behind him.

"What the hell are we doin?"

"What we've done before. She's still alive inside, deserves a chance ta make a life." Victor said, snapping the thick branch in two.

"I don't know how ya managed ta ride with the wood in your pants." Jimmy said, half mocking.

"It's nothin, gonna get her someplace safe, maybe escort her as far as we can without turning back ta rejoin the unit." Victor snapped another piece off the thick branch.

"You don't even know her name." Jimmy said, leaning against a tree, one ankle crossed over the other.

"Don't care either. She had the gumption ta bite me when we grabbed her, she's got the guts ta question us even when she's scared shitless, and from the smell of things, actually can damned cook, so if you don't mind helpin with this damned wood, we'll get back and see what she's cookin."

Jimmy just scowled but nodded and started picking up the pieces from the ground. They both had a large armload of wood when they walked back into camp. Victor's stomach growled at the scent from their pot over the stove. She was sitting on a log, poking the low fire with a stick.

"Good, need more heat or this'll never cook." She said. They dropped the wood near her, and Victor added a few smaller logs to the fire.

"My name's Vivian. Vivian Beaucannan." She said.

Victor just grunted, and unloaded his bedroll from the saddle he'd laid over a log. He spread it out on the ground.

"You've got my bedroll, I'll sleep on the ground." He said, not looking at her. Jimmy was right about something. No matter how dirty, frail and thin she looked, he'd been fighting his instincts since the moment he'd grabbed her. He couldn't really tell what color her hair was; it was too matted and dirty. The dress she wore hung off her, and looked like something a slave would wear, not the lady of a fine house.

"You said you and your girl lived in the house?"

"Yes, my father owned it…he died not long before the war started." She said. "When he died there wasn't anyone else to run it, so I did."

He just grunted. She'd been on her own since before the war started.

"I lost most of the house folk not long after the war began. Most of the field hands stayed, at least 'til the army showed up, then they took off, except Dedra and Cookie. Cookie died last year, and its been me and Dedra, tryin ta just survive since."

"We'll see to it you're someplace safe. Philadelphia ain't been touched by the war, yet, and Otis's place is as safe as you can get." He sat down near the fire and leaned on a log, Jimmy dropped down next to him. The rain cover was in place, just an oiled piece of canvas over the two bedrolls, but it kept the worst of the wet that permeated this place off you while you slept. South Carolina was nothing but a big swamp and he'd be glad to see the end of it.

"Thank you. I don't really know what else ta say." She said.

He just nodded, and Jimmy grinned. "If that tastes as good as it smells, then no thanks will ever be needed. I miss good food."

She actually smiled at that, and Victor noticed her blue gray eyes. They had a sparkle in them, amusement, and he couldn't help feeling the smile that crossed his face in response. Suddenly mustering out sounded like a fantastic idea; they'd stayed a year over what they'd volunteered for, and the farm needed tending.

He couldn't get the thought out of his head, that the farm not only needed tending, but a woman's touch too.

They ate the tasty concoction she'd been able to create with dried salt pork and the few mealy potatoes they'd had in their packs, and Victor watched her settle in on the bedroll. As soon as he was certain she was asleep, and wouldn't wake, he glared at Jimmy.

"I'm takin' first watch."

Jimmy just chuckled.

"Not a damned word." Victor said.

Jimmy nodded, grinning.

"Just another one we're sendin' ta Otis."

Jimmy just shrugged.

"Ah, hell." Victor said, storming off into the trees. Jimmy knew it, he knew it, now he was just going to have to get Vivian onboard.

The night was cool and damp, not a real rain, just air so thick and heavy with moisture that it collected in tiny pools everywhere.

He woke Jimmy for his watch and then curled up in the still warm bedroll his brother left.

"I'm musterin' out." Victor said as he pulled the blanket over his shoulder.

"'Bout damned time." Jimmy said, as he took his post. "Been itchin ta get home for months."

Victor closed his eyes. They had to make some preparations in the morning.

The next morning, they told Vivian what they planned, they were going to leave her at the base camp, ride into the main encampment and do their muster. Victor showed her a hollow tree she could hide in if anyone came up, and helped get the supplies hidden; so that if anyone came across the camp while they were gone it would look like it had been abandoned.

The main encampment was only about a day's easy ride, and Victor figured they could get there in half a day, pick up anything left with the group, get their final pay and back to their camp by nightfall. He didn't like leaving her alone for more than a day.

The major didn't like their request, but he really didn't have a whole lot of choice. They cleaned out their tent; all personal effects loaded in packs on the horses and were on their way back.

"So tell me, again, why we're doin' this now, not that I'm complainin' but we'd have made more on the muster out if we'd waited two months." Jimmy said. Victor wasn't really happy with their muster pay, but it would be enough for them to make it home.

The camp looked like it had been raided, and Victor felt a surge of panic, but let out the signal whistle, and was relieved to see her slip from the hollow tree.

"Some men came by, in blue uniforms, tore the camp up pretty good." She said as she walked to them.

"Doesn't surprise me." Victor said as he reached down and helped her swing up behind him on the horse.

It took them almost three weeks to make it to the farm. In Philadelphia she'd decided to stay with them, and by the time they'd made it to the farm, Victor had made up his mind, he was keeping her. Jimmy laughed at him, told him he was going soft, but Victor just growled, and watched Vivian every day.

They'd been home a month when he asked her to marry him. She said yes, and a short ride into town, and it was done. He'd been surprised at how easily he fell into domestic life, and when she'd told him, two years after they were married that she carried his child, the surge of emotions surprised him. She made it four months with that one, and lost it. Neither one of them were surprised, but the pain was there for both of them.

Two years later, he felt the surge of hope, the idea of holding his own offspring in his hands, a son to teach and train, a daughter that looked like her mother, he would have been happy with either. In her sixth month, she'd started bleeding, and this time they wept over a tiny grave, holding each other.

Jimmy was in and out, never staying long, and Victor knew it was because the domestic bliss was hard for him to handle. It was the first time in his life, he felt truly happy. The only thing that would make his world complete was a tiny life to guide as it grew.

Jimmy was home when she announced the third, and chose to stay. They passed six months, then seven, and Victor finally let himself feel true hope that this time they would have the child they so desperately wanted.

"Victor!" he could hear her shout from the yard.

"Vivian." He ran, dropping the axe he'd been splitting wood with. This couldn't be happening again.

There was a pool of liquid under her at the table, but it wasn't bloody.

"It's time." She whispered, her face contorting with the increase of pain in her scent.

"I'll get the doctor." Jimmy said, running for the door.

Victor held her, feeling her belly contract under his hand, the little life inside struggling to get out. He wasn't sure what he felt, but he knew that they had to make it this time.

She labored for two days, and then the screams stopped. He held his breath, waiting for the tiny sound, but there was none. He charged into the room, the doctor held a tiny bundle in his hands, a bundle that wasn't breathing. Vivian had tears running down her cheeks, and he let out a roar of anguish. A son, she'd given him a son, but he'd never taken a breath.

He held the child, looked at its tiny face, wrapped its cold tiny fingers around his, and then Jimmy took it away.

"I'll clean him up, and start digging a grave." Jimmy said gravely. "Vivian needs you."

He climbed onto the bed with his wife. He wrapped her in his arms, and felt her lean her cheek against his chest.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

"For what?" He asked.

"Failing you."

"It's not your fault. If it's anyone's, its mine." He held up his clawed hand. "Has to be my seed is bad, because of these, because I can't die, I'm not meant to have a child?"

"No, its mine, I'm not able to give you what you need. Victor, I love you." He felt a weak sob, and just held her close. They'd get through this, maybe try again; he needed her to know he wasn't giving up on her.

"It'll be fine. I love you, now rest, and get better." He whispered against her hair. He didn't realize how tired he was, and when he woke, she was gone, cold in his arms, and he didn't even have the strength to fight the tears in his eyes. Jimmy opened the door.

"Been waiting on you to wake up, I've got both graves ready." He said, gently. "I smelled it about three hours ago."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Victor whispered, not wanting to disturb her.

"There wasn't anything to do, she was asleep, and peaceful, and you needed the rest. Besides, I didn't think you could handle digging that hole."

Victor glared at his brother.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"What happened?" The voice through the crack in the wall startled him.

"She'd been raped as a young girl, and the midwife on the plantation had aborted the child, but it scarred her up. She kept a journal, and after we buried them, I found it and read it. She'd gone to the doctor, and he'd told her she had a very small chance of giving live birth, but she kept trying because it was important to me. She died of internal bleeding."

They both heard the clang of the door at the end of the hallway opening, and he held his breath. His cell door opened and four guards grabbed his chains and pulled him toward the door through the low room. They clamped a collar around his neck with a chain attached, and then released the shackles from his hands and feet. He saw the needle but didn't have time to resist, and the world went black.


	3. Chapter 3

*A/N Victor's next story will share the viewpoint between Victor and his wife, but it is from his memories of what she told him, and the thoughts and feelings she revealed to him. Also expect some beginnings of friction between Jimmy and Victor. I know the history buffs will probably kill me on this one, but yes I have created a new member of the Windsor household. In no way, shape or form do I claim she is legitimate, but she is recognized by all members of the family. How she came about, and why she is accepted, but not on the 'official' roles of Queen Victoria's children or grand children will be explained, I do not play fast and loose with history often. 

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He woke strapped to a table in a lab, something cold and metallic, that smelled of antiseptic and harsh cleaning chemicals attached to his groin. He could feel something penetrating him from behind and lengths of IV tubing was connected to needles that somehow stayed in his arms.

"Begin the endorphin drip." A female voice said. He wasn't able to move his head to see her. He memorized the scents in the room two frails, and three men, more to add to his death list.

And then the device up his ass went off against his prostate. He felt the blood rush to his groin and felt the mechanical manipulation start to push him to orgasm. Suddenly he knew exactly what was going on, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop it. He roared defiance with the first one, rage with the second, and by the hundredth, he barely whimpered.

"This one was mostly blood, no viable sperm." The female voice said.

"Let him heal, then do it again, when he can no longer react send him down to the cell for a few days, then start again.". This was a male voice, over a radio or intercom system, another one for his death list.

The next hours were pure agony, he'd been on some benders in his time, one notable whore house in Hong Kong came to mind, but never anything like this. He actually wondered if his body could handle any more.

The sudden blackness took him by surprise. When he woke he was curled into a little ball, chained back up, a food packet with three large bottles of water sat on the ground next to his hand. He could smell real meat and bread, fresh bread.

He started eating, slowly. He remembered puking more than a few times on the table, and he was still I'm excruciating pain. The food and water helped his healing kick in. He leaned back against the wall.

The sound of movement startled him enough for him to jar his still painful neither regions.

"Are you alright?" She whispered. He barely heard it and debated answering her at all.

"Do I sound fuckin' alright." He growled.

"What did they do?"

He thought about answering her, part of him felt a little glee at shocking the catholic school girl, and another part wanted to protect her.

"You don't want ta know.". He said, taking a deep gulp of water from one of the bottles."

"Please, I need to know something, I'm going nuts."

"Kid, I been down here for months, trust me you're not goin nuts yet."

"Please.". He could smell the salt of tears she couldn't afford to lose. He knew the drill by now, keep them barely alive, weak and easy to control. They'd starve her a few days, withhold water until she almost died of dehydration, or, with her healing, wished she could die, and then just give her enough to keep her from going into a coma. They wanted her awake to torment.

He remembered the guard's statement about waiting until the Man got tired of her before they got to have fun, so she hadn't been raped, yet.

"Just shut up frail." She whimpered and he relented a little. For some reason she reminded him a little of his second wife, Marion.

"How about another story?" He asked.

"Anything to keep me sane."

He chuckled, and tried to hide the wince of pain when just a simple laugh shot searing pain through his groin. Maybe Marion wasn't a good story, he tended to remember the good times with her in vivid detail.

"I call this one the search for Sheba." He started. "Marion was as stubborn as they come..."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Marion glared at the disk in front of her. The damned corset was too tight again, and she was having trouble concentrating. She was going to have to remind Annie not to pull it so tight. It wasn't like she was in Court where her Grandmother would chastise her for her 'unfeminine" ways.

Markus walked into her small workroom.

"Marion, you look pale. Sit down and rest." He tried to grab her arm and guide her to a chair. She yanked back, so tired of his false solicitude and obvious attempts to win her hand and dowry.

"I'm fine, my damned maid laced my damned corset too tight this morning. I swear she does it a purpose."

"Well the new fashions are calling for a smaller waist this year." She glared at him. She wasn't some parlor ninny who thought about nothing but fashion and catching a husband. She thanked God her father, The Duke of Clairmore had allowed her to indulge her" fancy for anything historical" as he called it, and allowed her to sit for the entrance exams for Oxford. She ignored Markus and turned back to the map on the table and the bronze disk.

"You cannot seriously think the university would give you a grant, field work is men's work." Markus said, and she bit back the response she wanted to give him. He was a chair in the archeology department and she needed this grant. His next statement nearly put her temper into a rolling boil. "Of course if you married me, we could go together as a honeymoon. I would see to it my blushing bride was denied nothing she fancied."

"Markus, I really am quite busy." She said, trying hard to ignore him.

"You haven't given me an answer."

"I've given you an answer every time you ask, and it is the same answer now, no." She bit out.

"That isn't an answer. I have written to your father, asking for your hand." He was smug, thinking he'd won.

"Yes I know, and I also know his response, which is the same as mine. N.O. Now get out of my office."

"I am taking this to the Queen. We are a good match, and surely your Grandmother will convince you to see reason, you would be legitimate, and publicly recognized."

"Then it is a bad thing for you she's gone to Balmoral for some rest and is not seeing anyone about trivial matters." She looked up from the disk. "Threats will not make me change my mind, and I am not going to further your career and pay off your gambling debts by allowing you to marry into the Windsor line, even the illegitimate line. Get out of my office." She shouted the last.

"You'll regret this, Marion. This is a man's world. You don't belong here, bastards are never accepted." He left, slamming the door behind him. She sighed and went back to studying the disk. It had been found, among other artifacts at the site of the Temple of Jerusalem. It referenced Solomon and the location of a temple or palace of the Queen of Sheba, his Nubian concubine.

Xxxxxxxx

"These are the men I told you about, Your Grace." Victor glared at the little procurer. Since Vivian's death, he was following Jimmy around, staying as far from home as possible. They'd decided to hire out as mercenaries, bodyguards and hired guns, and it was more than keeping them busy, hence the procurer. He negotiated contracts for them, but they had the final say, but who in their fucking right mind turns down the Albert, Duke of Clairmore, Prince of Wales, heir to the throne. Just because the man was hiring them under the title of Duke of Clairmore, didn't mean every person in the room wasn't aware of who he was. He only held the Clairmore title in abstencia anyway, until his illegitimate daughter married, it was her dower estate.

Worse yet, they were being hired to escort and guard said daughter, a damned frail, on some stupid jungle adventure in Africa. Didn't the dumb twit know a frail's place was at home?

"I want this very clear from the start, my daughter, the future Duchess of Clairmore will be the one in charge of this expedition. I expect her to be treated with the same respect you'd give a man on this type of expedition." Victor snorted. It was a dumb idea, didn't matter if it was a frail or a male in charge.

"Do you have something to say, Mr. Creed?"

"Why the hell would anyone want to go that deeply into the jungle, 'less it was for a good hunt?" He grumbled, that was the only reason he'd think of going on his own. The larger predators were at least a challenge.

"My daughter is trying to find the palace of Queen Sheba of the Nubians."

"I thought it was the Queen of Sheba?" Jimmy asked. Victor smacked him upside the head.

"Don't you read, Runt, all that new stuff from the Temple in Jerusalem calls her Queen Sheba not the Queen OF Sheba." Suddenly Victor was very interested in this trip. He'd actually been following the new discoveries along with the new Conan Doyle detective serials.

"Father, are these the bodyguards?" Victor glared at the frail that walked into the room. He knew it, some parlor room ninny with a head for history. She should stick to her embroidery, if the too tight corset would allow her to count her stitches properly, how the hell frails actually breathed in those things was beyond him.

"Yes, Marion. Mr. Creed and Mr. Howlett, brothers."

"I don't care about their pedigree, I'm not breeding dogs. Are they capable of taking orders from a woman?" Victor did a doubletake. She had a backbone, and could stand up to her father.

"I was just making that point clear." The Duke said. Victor just nodded, something about her scent, the must of old books combines with a determination he rarely scented from males made him give her the grudging acknowledgement.

Jimmy just shrugged. He'd follow Victor's lead, or limp for a month with a shattered knee. Jimmy'd been getting uppity lately, wanting to make all the decisions, and Victor was getting close to an all out reminder of who was the older brother.

Three days and countless headaches from their charge later, the expedition left from Liverpool. Victor did everything in his power to avoid her. She was arrogant, confident in herself and her expedition, and he'd be damned if she didn't look down right heavenly in a pith helmet, and jungle gear. She wore trousers, but somewhere in the cargo hold of the ship was a trunk of female fripperies, he knew, because he'd had to haul the damned thing from the hotel that morning. He was secretly pleased it was in the cargo hold, and not in her cabin.

He was leaning on the rail, a cigar clenched between his teeth. Finally some peace.

"Mr. Creed, is everything arranged for Morocco?" He bit back the groan, so much for peace.

"As arranged as it can be. The ship should be in port, but we don't pay for passage until we get there, we may have to find a different ship heading for the Gold Coast." She was the most meticulous annoying pain in his ass, and he'd be damned if her scent had him thinking of a hundred things that he was not being paid to do to her frail little body.

"Very well." He could smell something was bothering her, and he didn't know if it was his years with Vivian, or just his own damned curiosity, but he was determined to try to find out what.

"Is there a problem, Princess?" She started at the title.

"I am most certainly not a princess, and don't forget it." She snapped. "And yes there is a problem. Professor Moore wired me at the hotel, Marcus Marshall, a co-worker of mine at the university has departed London and is on his way with his own expedition. He stole my notes from my office, and is trying to beat me to MY discovery."

Victor just nodded, sounded like a legitimate problem and one he could help with.

"I can wire a friend, when we reach port, it's a straight cargo ship, no comfort, but if he is in port, he can save us three to five days sailing time. Why are we going in on the east coast? Nubia is western Africa?"

"Because at the time Sheba ruled Nubia it was a large empire, and according to the translations I've done, her palace and even a temple complex devoted to worshiping her as a living Goddess, was in east Central Africa, and the Gold Coast is where I was able to find guides who would take us inland."

He nodded again. Her scent settled down to mild discontent, then spiked as the ship hit a rough patch of sea. He barely kept her from hurling overboard as she emptied the contents of her stomach over the side.

"Not a sailor, huh?" He said, helping her to sit and offered her a hankerchife to wipr her mouth.

"I will be fine, please make whatever arrangements you think necessary to speed this trip along." She said as she lurched to her feet, and staggered toward the door to the ladies cabins. He shrugged, he would do everything in his power to shorten this trip, the faster this job was done, the better.

She barely showed above decks until they pulled in at Brest, he went ashore and wired his friend with the cargo ship, and waited until it was almost time to depart, but got a reply. Chenre would be in Tangier and willing to take their small group on to the Gold Cost. The cost was less than the passenger ship he'd booked as well, so they'd save some money and shave a good week and a half off of their travel time.

A/N The story isn't finished yet, but it is going to take more than 1 chapter to tell it.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N The next segment of the Search for Sheba...You were warned, Victors memories of Marion are quite earthy. And yep this one is going to go at least another chapter, you have been warned – this is actually a truly epic undertaking. It is Victor/Vivian/Marion/OC/OC/OC for a reason...and there might be a few surprise OC's in there as I go.

He cleared his throat and took another drink from the water. Her quiet breathing was the only indication she was still there, and he paused in his tale. She was too quiet.

He waited, and a slight snore made him smile. Let her sleep, his Marion would wait. He wasn't sure he wanted to share all of her with this sprite in the next cell. Frightened, her scent was constantly full of fear, and he didn't want to tell her what he'd smelled above. He'd caught at least fourteen other scents, feral, female and completely panic stricken.

He knew they would discover soon their plans were thwarted, not by anything other than pure biology. His sperm never lived long outside his body, only on one occasion had his sperm ever been used successfully, and that had been immediately after extraction. He'd smelled the female, smelled her quicken, and only years later realized who she was. That time it had been the old fashioned way – he never knew what happened to the first child, the one Sinister created, but the second, that worthless piece of shit would die someday, hopefully he'd find him and kill him before his mother did. Graydon was the biggest waste of his DNA, and it was still a race to see who would kill him first, Mystique or Victor. Their first child, neither one of them knew the fate of, although, Victor smelled a lie whenever she spoke of it. He was glad he'd broken his association with the Brotherhood, with her. He was done with that part of his life.

He'd been ready to start a new adventure, peace with his brother had cost a high price, one neither of them could bear looking at each other, although they were no longer ready to kill each other on sight. He honestly hoped James and the frail, Stripes, the one they called Rogue, could conceive again. So far, Victor's offspring had been hopeless...maybe his brother would be able to carry on the line.

A moan from the cell next to him caused him to issue a low growl, before he remembered the sprite. She wasn't a frail, she couldn't be...she was a bodiless voice, sent to torment him, drive him to complete insanity...if she didn't have a scent, he might have allowed himself to believe it, but he knew better. His little trip upstairs, between the bouts of pain, had given him far more knowledge of what was happening, why he was here.

He'd been in Paris, meeting an old friend, one of those few old friends he could forget his troubles with, allow himself to let go of his control, to actually sate the depraved and decadent desires that plagued him from youth. She was a healer, not just of herself, but of others, she also was a Madam of a well known house, and kept him supplied with girls for a month, before he'd finally cleared the animal from his head, and let his cooler head prevail. He'd returned to his hotel, with the last of her girls in toe, for one night of simple lust, before heading out, starting over again, well not over, his fortune was still intact, even if his mind wasn't exactly all there.

He'd sent the girl out, and allowed himself a night of restful sleep. He still only vaguely remembered the prick of the needle, and he didn't know how long they'd kept him asleep, before he woke, chained in this damned hole.

"Are you still there?" She whispered, he could hear and smell how dehydrated she was, even though it wouldn't kill her, it was painful. His hand had been working while he thought, widening the crack enough to slip the smallest bottle through.

"Take it." He said, pushing the plastic through, and hoping it wouldn't rip before she could grasp it. He felt it pulled from his hand, the crack now wide enough to at least let his hand through.

"Thank you." She whispered.

"Where was I?" He said, not even acknowledging the thanks. She shouldn't thank him. He had a pretty good idea what the next step in the process upstairs would be, he just hoped he'd be able to escape before they got to frail number fifteen. Something about her, and he didn't even have to think twice about what it was, she smelled innocent, damn it. She reminded him too damned much of Marion.

"You'd gotten the ship to Africa, the one captained by your friend." She said softly, he heard her take a sip of water.

"Ahhh, yes, when the trouble really began..." He grinned. Trouble, absolutely, but one of the happiest times of his life.

XXXXXXXXXX

"What the hell do you mean, they won't let me aboard?" She fumed. He couldn't help but be stirred by the flush in her pale cheeks, the fire in her blue eyes, her red lips, untouched by any rouge, flushed with rage...and impotence.

"They won't take an unmarried woman." He growled. James was still trying to negotiate with Captain Chenre, a former Confederate Navy Captain, now plying his trade along the African coast. "It's a superstition."

"Of all the idiotic..." She started. "Well, we'll have to find other passage."

"The ship we originally booked is still a week out, and Marshall is only five days behind us." He said, they'd been stuck in Tangier for four days trying to negotiate taking her on board.

"And what, Mr. Creed, do you suggest we do?" 

He wanted to offer half a dozen suggestions, not one of them even close to being voiced in the company of a lady of society, but instead he threw out the only one that would get them on the ship, and out of port before the asshole following them caught them.

"Marry me."

"WHAT!"

"In name only, frail. I wouldn't be tied to a ninny like you for any longer than necessary to save my life. We can get a marriage license, then they'll let us on the ship, after, we can just go to a colonial office, say it was never consummated, and get it annulled." Not that he had any real plans of that. He figured, as hot blooded as she was, and trapped with him on a long jungle voyage, he'd consummate it alright, hell he gave it one day.

"You are an idiot and a fool. I am the grand-daughter of Queen Victoria..."

"Illegitimate." He snapped back.

"Only by circumstances. My mother and father were married...but not in a British Colony, so when they returned to England, they were to be married, formally, but my mother was already heavy with me, and died giving birth to me before the wedding could take place."

"Oh...really, nice story."

"My mother was the third daughter of the Shah." She snapped. He suddenly understood not only her fire, but her stubbornness. Arabian women were a complete pain in his ass.

"So you're a princess on both sides, so fucking what?" He growled, his patience snapping.

"I'm a princess on neither side, illegitimate by circumstances, not intent, and only my grand-mother can approve my marriage." She said, head high.

"What about your grand-father?"

"He disowned my mother. She was his favorite, and he didn't want her to marry my father. They were married in Jerusalem, by both an Imam and a Priest, but the marriage wasn't technically legal."

"Well, you're going to get married at a damned clerks office, because that is the only damned way we're gonna get on that damned ship, and on with your damned expedition, or we can just turn the fuck around and let Marshall find your damned Queen Sheba." Victor snapped.

She glared at him, but surprised him by nodding. "Fine. The Queen will just have it annulled when we return anyway."

He growled, but grabbed her arm and dragged her to the Consulate Office. The license was quick work, and a few words by a half drunk priest and it was done. He'd gone and saddled himself with another wife, this one not nearly as tractable and Vivian, and he had the feeling she might actually be the death of him.

Passage secured now, Chenre glanced at the paperwork and agreed, and they were off. Her seasickness kept him from making good on his promise until they reached Elmina where her porters were waiting. She seemed to completely ignore the fact that she was his wife, but he was determined to change her mind. He wasn't about to let go of something that belonged to him, and she'd said the words, admittedly thinking he'd be a gentleman and not press the issue, Marion was going to learn, he was no gentleman.

They stayed overnight in a Muslim hostel, separated by gender, and guards. He fretted and paced.

"What the hell is your problem?" Jimmy snarled. He'd listened the entire voyage to what Jimmy thought of the whole idea, that it was a breach of their contract, that the girl could have him jailed for forcing her to matrimony, but Victor just snarled back, and didn't say a word.

"We can't get out of this place soon enough for me." He said finally.

"Get some sleep." Jimmy said as he rolled over on the narrow bed.

"Like hell." Victor muttered under his breath. She was ten rooms away, with six armed guards between them, even married Muslims slept separated in this damned hostel. It wouldn't stop him, not tonight. Tonight he was going to claim his bride.

He waited until his brother's snores were deafening, a sure sign he was dead to the world, and then Victor slipped out the window, and clinging to the walls, slipping from shadow to shadow, made his way to Marion's window ledge.

She was sitting at a dressing table, brushing her hair, the candle light painting blue highlights into her raven hair. He opened the window silently, slipping into her room. He smelled her start, and rising panic, and felt his already engorged groin twitch in response. His life since Vivian hadn't been chaste, he'd had his share of whores, and prizes, without care or concern, but tonight – this was his wife.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed, even she knew the danger of them being discovered. Even as her husband, she would be stoned for having him in a public room.

"I'm here for what's mine." He said, his low growl making goose bumps rise on her skin, and then he smelled it, hesitant, even innocent, but arousal none the less.

"Mr. Creed, you can't just..." He silenced her with his mouth, her teeth biting his lip, her hands flailing uselessly against his chest, as he crushed her to him. He felt her go limp, and glanced to see if it was a trick, but no, the damned ninny fainted. That actually suited him well, he slipped her gown over her head and laid her on the narrow bed. It would have to do.

He let his gaze drift over her naked body, her breasts firm and high, trained by years of corset wear, her waist also trim for the same reason. He smiled to see that her limbs were well fleshed, never a man to like a woman who was skin and bones. He quickly slipped off his shirt and trousers, and covered her chilling flesh with his. Her eyes flew open, and he again silenced her scream with his mouth.

"You're mine." He whispered, his hands tracing her olive skin, and her moan, and the delicious aroma wafting from her let him know he'd found exactly what he needed. She was as passionate as he was, and her mouth went from defiant to willing, her tongue dueling with his, her legs wrapping around his waist as he settled at her opening. He nipped and licked and sucked down the column of her throat, the pert buds of her nipples begging to be tasted, and he took his time, savoring the salt of sweat on her skin, the sweet taste of her blood when his fangs scraped just a little too hard, and as her hips began to move under him, the sweet scent of her nectar, easing his passage into her opening, her eyes opening wide, eyes dilated in fear and passion, and pain, but he just smiled, fangs flashing, before taking her mouth again, and thrusting past her barrier, her innocence his forever.

She cried into his mouth, her tears, almost, rending the heart his brother swore was nonexistent, but he kissed them away, allowed her body to adjust to him, and then, with short slow movements, found that point inside every woman that with time and care, brought them trembling in pure pleasure under his hips. He felt her inner muscles clench, and held his control, capturing her first cries of pleasure in his mouth, and then, with her relaxed, and adjusted to his size, he set his own grueling pace to his own climax, careful to muffle not only the sounds of his involuntary roar in her hair, but her several cries before he reached his final burst against his shoulder.

They lay trembling, still intimately joined, and he glanced at the candle on the dressing table. The work of a little more than an hour and she was his for life. He knew he'd pay for this, he could smell her anger, as her passion subsided. But the one thing she would never be able to deny, was that as much as she claimed she didn't want to be his wife, this hour showed her that no gentleman would ever match her, ever give her what she needed like he could.

"You bastard." She hissed.

"No, that's Jimmy. My parents were married, God rest both their souls." he hissed back, his hips bucking as she tried to move under him. Her moan, either pain or pleasure he didn't care, drew his lips to hers.

"I'll never forgive you for this." She said.

"You will, hell you have." He grinned. "You're mine, frail." 

"I am..."

"Yeah yeah, I know, the grand-daughter of the Queen, I don't give a shit. YOU are my wife, now and forever, and you damned well enjoyed it, so quit yer bellyachin, and get some sleep." He pulled out swiftly, knowing if he didn't, he'd stay all night, but they couldn't afford to be discovered.

"And just what the hell are you..." She stared when he grabbed the towel next to the water basin. He damped the towel, and with experience only marriage could give, cleaned his wife of both the blood of her innocence, and the dredges of his seed that had not made it into her fertile womb. She moaned as he cleaned the sensitive folds of her inner core, and he allowed his thumb to find that still hard nub, and captured her gasp, and then cry of pleasure as he left her.

"Bastard." She hissed again as he slipped out the window. He grinned and wagged his finger at her as he climbed across the wall to his own window, and solitary bed.

The next morning, Jimmy just glared at him when he woke, and Victor knew there would be hell to pay as soon as they were out of the restrictions of their resting place. She joined them where the porters were packing their belongings, the trousers had to be torture on her tender skin, but he only noticed a few winces, and grinned. She glared at him, and if any of the daggers shot from her eyes could penetrate his pure joy, they would have pierced his heart, but nothing could ruin his mood.

"Bastard." She hissed as they mounted the horses they were taking for the first leg of the journey, and he heard her hiss it several more times through the day. Jimmy at least waited until they were out of the city, before turning on him.

"What the hell did you do? You raped..."

"I did not, she's MINE!" He growled. Her hiss of 'bastard' behind him didn't even faze him.

"It was only an expediency..." Jimmy started.

"Not anymore." Victor said.

"She's Royal..."

"I don't care, I'm not going to hear anything else about it. Now back the fuck off Jimmy." Victor growled.

"It's our job to protect her, not abuse her."

"Does she look abused, did Vivian look abused. She's my wife, to protect, to care for, just as Vivian was. You're the one who's been on my ass to find another wife, to settle down. Now DROP IT!"

Jimmy just muttered and backed his horse to protect his new sister-in-law, just like a brother should.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I swear, if I thought it would work, I'd kill him." Marion hissed. Jimmy reached over and covered her hand on her reigns.

"I'll help you..." 

"No, the damned bastard is right. I wanted this. I've never felt this way about any man, I always thought my marriage would be something for position, for title or wealth, not something with passion. As much as I'm furious with him right now, I can't deny that I was a very willing participant, and that, honestly, I'm looking forward to more of the same." She blushed, the fire in her cheeks making her even more warm in the humid heat.

"I'll be damned..." Jimmy muttered, but shrugged. Marion smiled at her new brother-in-law, and winced a little as the saddle rubbed places that she didn't know could be so tender and sore. For better or worse, she was Mrs. Creed now, and she was bound and determined for it to be better.

The next several days were a constant trudge, stopping late in the evening, with barely enough light to rig hammocks and mosquito netting to protect them from night insects. Meals were cold, and there wasn't any time for the pursuits her mind wondered to, watching her husband's broad back on his horse all day.

Within a week she felt they'd made enough time, to slow their pace a bit, so that she could consult her notes and maps, she knew the journey would take at least a month, but she wanted to make sure there wasn't any shorter way. For the first time they were able to stop in a clearing with a clear stream, and set up tents, and cots and make a comfortable camp. She hid her smile when Victor dumped his pack in her tent, and at Jimmy's protective glare. She and her husband would work out their issues. She watched, without judgment as Jimmy followed one of the female porters into the jungle, to look for wood.

She was standing over her table, maps spread out under the lantern as she deciphered, again the tablets and the rubbing of the bronze neck disk found under the ancient temple, before the expedition was halted by political troubles.

"Put that away." He said.

"It is my work, and why we are here. I'm trying to find a shorter route, than what we planned. I don't know what Marshall might do, and I want to be there and have some time to work before he shows up."

"You can look at it in the light of day. Marion, you need some real rest." She was actually surprised by his solicitude. He'd been kind, ensuring her hammock had the best and safest place to hang, with his directly under hers to protect her sleep all during the march, but now, they were alone.

"Victor I need..." His mouth descended on hers and she gave up thinking. This was what she'd really been thinking about this whole march, his mouth, his hands, his body against hers.

"Later." He whispered, and dragged her to the narrow cot. He laid down on his back, and pulled her down on top of him, tucked her head under his chin, and wrapped his arms protectively around her. She heard a soft sound from his chest and realized he was purring like some great cat.

"I swear you're more lion than man sometimes." She laughed.

"My first wife called me her tiger." He chuckled.

"First wife?"

"Her name was Vivian." And his voice, telling the tragic tale of her predecessor lulled her to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N another sojourn into the jungles of Africa, and what does the lab now have in store for Victor and its other prisoners? Marion's story is not quite finished, and another is just beginning.

xxxxxxxxx

He stopped talking at the clanging of the doors at the end of the corridors. She tensed and he smelled a fresh sense of panic. He felt his own as they passed the door to his hole, and opened hers instead. What did they plan to do with her? Her screams echoed off the walls until the sedative took effect; he heard them dragging her body along the floor. He leaned back on the wall, one claw tracing a pattern in the floor. He didn't even notice what the pattern was, until he looked down.

Infinity.

He waited, the sounds of the door opening hours later, and he smelled her. She'd been examined, he could smell the KY they used for the pelvic examination and the antiseptic wipes they'd used to clean her up. He smelled a trace of blood, but not mixed with the other two scents, a blood draw then, they'd left her dignity in place, for now. His claw continued to trace the symbol on the floor, digging deeper into the stone with each pass. He was lucky, this piece was sandstone, not granite, and by the time she moaned and started to wake, he'd actually made a little headway in the outside of the symbol.

"You okay, kid?" He asked.

Her sob was his only answer. He hated frails and their tears he really did, especially his frails.

"Do you want ta talk?" He said softly.

"They are going to force you to…they taunted me with it, you would take my virginity violently, force your offspring into me, make me a whore in the eyes of the church." She whimpered the last.

His fingers traced the symbol silently. He couldn't think of anything to try to comfort her. She was right, they'd force him to rape her, they were after his offspring, but why taunt her faith? Why destroy her? That part made no sense to him. He was startled by her voice.

"Go on with your story. Tell me more about Marion."

He brushed his fingers in the grooves of the symbol on the floor; the outline was almost half an inch deep, deep enough for what he wanted. He shifted to the inside of the symbol, one side slightly smaller than the other. His voice was a surprise to him, as he concentrated on his carving.

Xxxxxxx

She kept them at the same grueling pace for two more weeks but her shortcut, and determination managed to get them to the ruins a week ahead of schedule. It did nothing for his needs, and he intended to make that the first priority after setting up the base camp. Her tent was up, and she was inside, pouring over maps and diagrams while he and Jimmy supervised the rest of the camp set up.

He dropped his pack inside the flap of her tent, and grinned at her snort. She was his wife, well and truly and she was just going to have to get used to it. Jimmy glared at him, and he just glared back. His little brother was getting way too protective of Victor's wife, and if he didn't back off, Victor was going to have to remind him quickly and severely who the older brother was.

Their guide and workers muttered amongst themselves as he patrolled the camp. They smelled nervous and scared and he didn't want to spook them any more than they already were. Finally the camp was set to his satisfaction. Marion's tent in the middle, Jimmy's to one side of it, the tents for the workers set up in a ring around, they wouldn't provide much shelter from guns or arrows, but would offer concealment if they had to try to run.

He climbed one of the large trees and with claws extended, leaped from tree to tree in a widening spiral around the camp, making sure there wasn't anything dangerous within his considerable eyesight and olfactory range. Content that his frail was safe, for now, he climbed back down, claws safely out of sight and walked to the tent in the center of camp.

She was drawing; her eyes set on the ruins, her camp stool sitting outside of her tent as she stared at the entrance to the ruins and tried to faithfully copy it into a pencil sketch.

"There's a great deal of work to be done." She said as he approached.

"I can see that. Where do you want to start?" He asked, thinking, not of her archeology, but of her wifely duties.

"I wish we had time to map the whole ruin, but the glyphs from the choker indicate that the palace complex and temple are in the center, at the highest point." She said, indicating a high platform with broken columns in visible from the camp. From his aerial view in the high trees the ruins went on for miles. They were actually camped in a flat area near what looked like her palace and temple.

He dropped to the ground, near her seat, his legs stretched out in front of him. "We can start there in the morning." He said.

"No, we have plenty of daylight left. I want to get a look at it today." She replied, not even sparing him a glance.

"You have other work, today, wife." He said with a leering grin.

She finally looked over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised in mocking question. "Indeed I do not."

"Indeed you do." He rose slowly to his feet, scowling. He let her think he was angry, but everything about his beautiful wife amused him.

"Mr. Creed, If we are to find Sheba before Marshall and his men get here, then we need to get as early a start as possible…" Her lecture was cut off by him pulling her up off her stool, and against his chest with one hand, while the other cupped the back of her head.

"Vic..." she was cut off by his lips, and he allowed her to feel his smile, as she surrendered, her body responding perfectly to his. She gave a feeble resistance as he dragged her inside the tent, but surrendered sweetly as he laid her on her camp cot. He swallowed her moan as his body covered hers, and any thoughts of Sheba were lost for the rest of the day.

He woke to her slight movements as she tried to get up without waking him. He could smell dew on the ground, and the slight illumination of pre-dawn greeted his cracked eyelid.

"Back to bed, woman." He growled.

"I have to get to the ruin as soon as possible." She snapped back, yanking her arm from under his head, instead of the slow stealthy movements she had tried to keep from waking him.

"Can you at least wait until dawn?" He growled.

"No." and she was off the cot, pulling on a pair of trousers, and then snorting in disgust. She took them off and threw them across him on the bed. "Next time, please be so kind as to make sure our clothes are not confused." She snapped.

He laughed as she pulled on her trousers. He grabbed his from across his chest and sat up to put them on. If she wanted to get to that platform today, by God she would get there, but only after he'd determined it was safe. He pulled on his shirt and boots, trying to beat her, but he was surprised that she actually was ready before he was.

"At least let me check it out first. If it's stable you can come up." He said.

"Victor you are not going to keep me from my work." She snapped.

"I never said I would, but your safety is first, then your dig. If it's not safe, we'll try to find another way." He growled. She drove him insane, never listening, never peaceful and serene like Vivian had been. Her passion was hotter than Vivian's too, and the thought of Marion in danger chilled him to the core. How the damned royal ninny got under his skin, he had yet to figure out, but she was well and truly lodged somewhere in the left of his chest, for that part of his anatomy clenched at the thought of her crushed under ancient stone slabs or pierced by any ingenious device designed to protect the Queen's resting place.

He followed her out of the tent; the only soul who saw them start the trek to the ruins was Jimmy, sitting his watch. He glanced at his brother; the brooding glare was more than Victor wanted to deal with, so he ignored it. Soon, he was going to have to teach his brother that lesson.

When they reached the stone steps up to the platform, Victor insisted on going up first. He tested each step for safety and allowed her to follow him, placing her feet where his vacated. The view from the top was amazing, their little camp a white blotch against the deep greens and browns of the jungle's edge.

From now on they would set a lookout here, for his effective range of sight was nearly tripled over the highest trees, and he would have plenty of warning, if Marshall's party had gained any time on them.

She found an entrance to a sloping tunnel going down, and he glared as she lit a torch she'd brought with her. He glowered and growled, but followed her down the slope. Below her torch created a circle of light, glinting off of crystals embedded in the walls, reflecting the light further. The opening lead to a small chamber, and he pushed ahead of her, testing the floors and walls as they moved. So far everything seemed stable, and un-trapped.

He noticed the light moving away from him, and he turned back. She'd found another tunnel, and he growled, but followed her. She wouldn't let him push past her. They found another chamber, larger, and with more signs of instability. He pushed past again, testing her path before allowing her to move forward. A noise behind them, made him turn, claws out and fangs flashing.

"Do you want the workers yet, or should I let them get breakfast?" Jimmy said.

"Let them eat, I want to decide where to concentrate." Marion said with a wave of her hand, and Victor let out a chuckle, and relaxed his combat stance.

"Be careful, I don't want to have to haul his heavy ass out of here." Jimmy growled, and Marion chuckled.

He followed her the rest of the morning, surging forward when she entered any chamber that seemed even remotely unstable, but everything seemed settled. Finally they came to a large central chamber, which held a stone chair in the center of the room. The walls were covered with carvings and symbols, and here she pulled out her sketch pad.

"I'll be in here for a while, would you go get more light, and some food." She said, and he grunted.

He returned with three workers, some braziers for light and a napkin with meat rolls the camp cook had prepared for breakfast. He also brought her little camp stool. He sat quietly on the throne and she just glared at him. He glared back. The damned thing wasn't trapped, and it actually fit his ass quite well.

She continued her sketches through the day, and when he felt his stomach rumble, he growled, but went and found dinner prepared in the camp. Light was fading, but he knew he'd have to bodily carry her out of there, so he just packed up a meal for them both, and the workers laughed as he carried it away.

"Here's dinner." He said as he re-entered the chamber. She didn't even glance at him; several pages of sketches lay on the floor at her feet, with notes scribbled in the tiniest of spaces. He picked them up, and reading the notes, put them in some semblance of order. He handed her a bowl of stew. She looked at it for a moment, as if she didn't even know what it was, then shook her head, put down her pencil, and picked up the spoon.

"Thank you." She finally said.

"So, can you read this?" He asked, sitting on the floor next to the neat pile of sketches, and looked up at her.

"Some of it, these here…" she pointed to a section of the wall, 'are Aramaic, these…" pointing to another section, "are Egyptian hieroglyphs, between is a language I've never seen before, but it is a Rosetta Stone, the Aramaic and Egyptian are the same phrase, and if the middle is the language of the Nubian Empire, then I should be able to translate without too much difficulty."

"So what does it say?" He said around a bite of his own stew.

"Enter all with troubled souls, Sheba, Queen of Nubia holds court. May Our Blessed Living Goddess ease you troubles, soothe your soul and provide you strength."

"So you found her?"

"I've found her throne room, thanks to you." She looked down at him with a smile that made that errant organ in his chest thump as if to break from its ribbed cage and fly on its own. Forget Sheba, Marion was his Living Goddess who eased his troubles, and soothed his soul. It was a smile he would cherish for many years, because she gave it so rarely.

"Do you think her tomb is here?" He asked.

"I can't tell by the engravings, yet, but I very much hope so." She took another bite of stew, and one of the braziers stuttered, and then went out.

"We need more fuel." She said.

"No, you need to give up for the night and get some rest."

"But Marshall…" She started.

"Marion, he is still weeks behind us, you can sketch more tomorrow, but its after sundown, and we'll need the torches just to get back to the entrance." She nodded, and allowed him to lead her out, her notes clutched tightly to her chest.

She slipped into their tent, and sat at the table, organizing her notes and sketches from the day. He put away the camp stool, and other detritus, and grabbed another bowl of stew for himself. He carried it to where Jimmy was sitting near his own tent.

"Did she get any work done?"

"A lot, actually." Victor said. "The Throne Room gave her the clue to translate the Nubian language; she didn't even know I was there." He took a bite of stew.

"Are you really going to do this, keep her?" Jimmy asked, scraping his own bowl.

"She's no Vivian." Victor said, but even he heard the frail softness in his voice. Jimmy's spoon stopped scraping for a second, then continued.

"She's your wife, then?"

"Yes."

"You could land in prison for this."

"Nope, not now, she don't know it but I do." Victor said before filling his mouth with more stew.

"Know what?"

"She's carryin'" Victor said, a little smugly.

"Damn it. We're stuck here in the jungle for God knows how long, and now she's with child. Great! Just fuckin' great! Have you got a single brain in your head?"

"More than a few, I ain't exactly thrilled, the timin' coulda been better, but it will hurry her outa here when the time comes. Have two of the workers keep watch tonight, I want you on the platform tomorrow watchin' the sky for camp fires behind us. I want warning before they're on us."

"Shit!" Jimmy scowled.

"Don't start, Jimmy. She's my wife, carryin my child, I ain't gonna let this shithead get within ten feet of her." Victor snapped.

"Well, damn, I guess if we're getting paid ta protect her, you gettin' all your protective instincts goin' is a good thing." Jimmy muttered. "Just don't like the idea of you marryin' up like that. Gonna go ta your head."

"Jimmy, don't be an ass." He scraped the last of the stew from the bowl. "Now take this back to the cook, I'm gonna see if she's up ta some fun tonight." He leered at his brother, who just glared back.

"Ruttin' bull is what you are." Jimmy grumbled.

Victor just chuckled and walked over to their tent. He could hear the soft snores from inside and just shook his head. She was passed out across the table, one page of notes stuck to the side of her face. He removed it gently, then laid her onto the cot, removed her boots, and covered her with the mosquito netting. Tonight he'd sleep on the ground. His princess needed some sleep.

The rest of the week ran about the same, he started carrying a watch, and his main job was to keep the light where she needed it, and directing the workers to dig where she wanted, twice she made discoveries that had her so excited, he'd actually had to send the workers away. He certainly hoped she'd find the tomb now, when she'd discovered Sheba's bedchamber, she'd been so excited and aroused; she'd demanded he take her right there.

They worked for almost a month, undisturbed, and on the third day of the fourth week, they broke into the tomb. She was in awe, the jewels, gold and other precious objects in the room were nothing compared to the grand sarcophagus in the Egyptian style, the daily tools and entertainments laid out as if ready to be used. She wept, then went to start drawing and cataloging the items.

He could smell the dust of ages in the room, and he didn't want to disappoint her, but there was no body in that sarcophagus. It was a decoy, this wasn't the real tomb. The riches displayed were certainly wealth enough for such a great Queen, but her body was elsewhere.

A cry from the tunnel behind him made him turn. One of the workers stumbled into the room.

"Sir…fires three days away, maybe less." His broken English penetrated Victor's skull.

"Shit!"

"Victor?" She turned to look at him.

"Marshall." He said.

"I need to finish this." She said.

"You can't." He growled.

"Victor, this is my life's work. This will prove I'm as good as any man, that my theories and discovery can rival those whose fortunes granted them a manly form."

"Marion, we can't stay. I won't put you or the child at risk." He growled. He hadn't planned on telling her that way, but she needed to think of their child too.

"CHILD!" She shouted.

"Yes, I've known for a couple of weeks." He said.

"And you didn't tell me?" She shouted back.

"Marion, I knew you'd discover it in time. I honestly didn't want you to know until I was sure my seed had set." He growled back.

"You bastard."

"We've had that discussion."

"I have to find the body, the golden death mask. If we can find that, before he comes, we'll leave." She said.

"Fine, I'll look for it, you get back to camp."

"No!"

"Marion."

"No!"

"WOMAN!"

"NO!" He growled but grabbed a torch.

"Then follow me, and don't get ahead. The tomb is probably trapped." He growled.

"But all of this…"

"Leave it, it's a decoy, let Marshall think he's found it. We'll find the real one, and beat him back to London." Victor said.

"Thank you." She whispered, there was a tone to it he didn't understand, he looked back, and she had one hand over her belly.

"For what?"

"My child." She whispered.

"Get a move on, woman, or Marshall will beat you to your Queen." Victor snapped, but smiled. She smiled back, and moved to follow him.

They looked for hours, but couldn't find anything else that might be a tomb. Marion insisted on having workers open the sarcophagus, but, as Victor suspected it was empty. She insisted on staying one more day, and after she dropped off to sleep in their tent, Victor took several torches, and headed back to the ruins.

"Jimmy, keep her safe. If they get too close while I'm in there, get her out, into the jungle and hide her." He snarled at his brother. Jimmy nodded.

He searched all night, and just before dawn, as he was turning to leave a seemingly empty room, the light caught on something under a cracked stone in the floor. He ripped it up, and there, below him, in all the splendor sent from her Hebrew King, his parting gifts to his Nubian bride, was Marion's Queen. He gazed in wonder for a moment at the mask, the chiseled features, the white gold to represent her white hair, the dark rose gold to tint her lips, the face of a Goddess, one he'd see again, but he didn't know it at the time.

He grabbed the mask and the ring of Solomon off her finger and stuffed them into a pack he'd brought just for this. These would prove her claims; these would prove Marion had been here first. He slipped out of the tunnel just as dawn broke, to find disaster had struck.

Marshall and his men had taken the camp. He remembered a loose stone in the throne room, under the great chair, and hurriedly stashed the pack under it, making sure there was no sign it had been disturbed. He had a wife to rescue, her reputation be hanged, but he wanted to make sure her enemy never found her treasure.

XXXXXXXXXXX

He was surprised at the snore drifting from the crack, but he knew she needed to rest. He ran his fingers over the deep grooves in the stone, and with a little force pulled up the little symbol, whole. He snapped it in half, creating two pieces, perfectly round, but flat where they broke in twain. This would do. He had to act quickly, but it wouldn't take but few moments to set her mind at ease, and ensure she didn't try anything foolish when they took her again.

"Kaitlyn" He growled. He heard her start, but another soft snore reached him. "Kaitlyn." He said a little louder.

"What, sorry?" she said as she started awake.

"I'm going to pass you something through the crack." He said softly.

"What?"

"A piece of stone." He said.

"Why?"

"Just take it."

"What is it for?"

"I'm about to explain." He said.

"Okay?" She said, but he felt her fingers meet his in the crack as he passed her the smaller half of the symbol.

"In olden days, when there were not enough priests for every village, a couple could be married if they said their vows under the grace of God, in very rare circumstances, there were not even witnesses needed as long as they exchanged tokens, and found a priest within a year and a day of their vows." He said. She chuckled.

"You know I'm from the Highlands of Scotland, we call that a hand fasting." She said.

"Good."

"Why?"

"I heard what you said. We can beat them yet. They may force me upon you, but it won't make you a whore, not if you accept my hand, accept my vows, make your own, and when I get us the hell out of here, we can find a priest to bless it." He said.

"You're asking me to marry you?"

"No, I'm tellin' ya ta marry me, or let them condemn you in the eyes of the church you seem to love." He growled.

"Well, when you put it that way…" He heard her move, and then felt her small hand rest inside his within the crack in the wall between them.

"I take you Kaitlyn McCauslin, to have and to hold, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live." He said.

"I take you, Victor…uhhh….oh yeah….Creed, to have and to hold for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live." He chuckled at her hesitation over his name. She actually had been paying attention to his stories. He put the larger half of the broken symbol on his left ring finger, a finger he was starting to think had been bare too long.

"You are single? Right?" She asked. And he chuckled.

"Yes, my last wife died over fifty years ago." He said.

"Wheew." She said with a chuckle. "Wouldn't want to be a bigamist."

He chuckled too, and then heard the door at the end of the hallway open.

"Please…" She whispered. "God, accept our vows, bless this union, and allow us grace and opportunity to escape our oppressors, in the Name of the Father, The Son and The Holy Ghost, Amen."

He repeated the prayer after her, then smelled a sense of relief, as his door was opened. She let out a little cry, but he squeezed her fingers one last time before the dragged him out, he tried to fight, but they kept him hunched over, his hands chained to the sides of his body as they hit him with the syringe and he passed out.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N We're no where near the end, so let us continue the journey through time – and space, and see what is in store for our erstwhile travelers (can we tell I've been reading the classics again.) This is the end of Marion's tale, but not the end of her influence in Victor's life.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He woke, strapped to a table again, but this time it was on its side. His legs were clamped against it, a band across his chest holding him upright, and in front of him, laid out as if on display, a young girl, she couldn't be more than twelve or thirteen. He let a low growl escape his lips as he struggled to move his arms, but they were strapped down just as tightly, and over the tips of his feet, were tight metal boot tips. His hands were encased in tight metal gloves, and when he tried to extend his claws, he grunted in pain. The metal was too thick; he stopped, knowing he wouldn't be able to cut his way out of this. He felt a familiar pressure in his ass and the cool of an IV in his arm.

The girl was crying, her pelvis at the perfect level, her whimpers and screams causing his growl to turn to a roar of anger. She was a child, barely started her period, he started cursing the people of this place in every damned language he knew, and a few he'd forgotten he'd learned. He felt the table move, until her dry opening was pressed against his flaccid length, he felt something sting in the IV, and felt his traitorous flesh start to respond. Hands covered in latex gloves grabbed his now erect tip, and pressed it into the girl. He struggled, but they had him so well confined he could do nothing to stop what they were doing.

He heard her sobs, smelled her tears, but he refused to look at her. He'd raped in his time, absolutely, but cubs like this were rarely on his menu, and then only if he was paid extra for the chore. He'd never even been remotely attracted to young girls, he preferred women, ripe and firm. He felt the table move again, forcing him further into her. She cried out in pain, and he roared in protest as he felt that tender flesh give way. They forced him further in, moving the tables tighter together. Finally, they stopped, and the probe against his prostate began to supply a low electrical current. He forced his mind onto something else, hoping to prevent the release of his seed, but the sudden shock of a cattle prod forced him to jump, creating a thrusting motion with his hips, that with the stimulation from behind, forced him to an orgasmic state.

He groaned, never having felt such a profound guilt for what he'd done, he hated himself, and hated not being able to free himself, to avenge the child upon the table, to kill the ones teaching him the horrors of what he'd done in the past. Yes he'd raped, in times of war, when a frail was nothing but a spoil, or when, his animal in control of his instincts, he wanted something, and wouldn't take no for an answer. But now he understood, understood the horror of it all; he growled and grunted as they forced him to spill inside her again.

"Very good." A voice said. The table he was strapped to was pulled back. Gloved hands removed him from the girl, and her table tilted upwards, elevating her pelvis to prevent his seed from being expelled.

"We have two more that will be in ovulation tomorrow. Return him to his cell." The voice said again."

Now he understood what she'd meant, understood how they could force him to impregnate these frails. He had to find a means of escape, had to find a way to get out of this horror.

He woke inside his cell, her tears a fine welcome home.

"Are you alright?" She asked when he was left to his devices with a food bundle.

"Yeah, have you eaten?" He asked.

"They gave me a food bundle with plenty of water after they took you. One of the guards laughed and said 'The Man' didn't want the little 'momma' under nourished." She caught the sob, but he still smelled the tears. He debated telling her exactly what happened.

"They've got a machine. They use some kind of drug to force me to respond, and then use electrical stimulation to force me to ejaculate." He said finally.

"Oh, God!" She whispered.

"God needs to start sending some ideas for getting out of here, because I'm fresh out." He growled.

She actually chuckled at his blasphemy, and he decided he liked to hear her laugh.

"So, I'm dying to hear, did you rescue Marion and your brother? Did you get out of there with the mask?"

He chuckled. He agreed with her, they needed the distraction. He didn't know how long it would be until she was on that table in front of him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He used every bit of stealth to sneak into the camp. Marshall had Marion next to him, and a priest was standing before them. Marion was gagged and struggling.

"Get on with it." Marshall screamed at the priest.

"I cannot unless she is free to speak." The priest said.

"Damn!" He grabbed Marion by the hair. "If you say anything other than 'I do' I'll kill every one of them."

She glared at him, but he removed the gag.

"Is there any man here who can provide lawful impediment that these two should not be joined in the bonds of holy matrimony?" The priest asked, his voice trembling in fear.

Victor stood and walked into the center of the camp.

"I can, she's my fucking wife." Victor shouted.

"VICTOR! He'll kill…." Marion was shoved down onto the ground, as Markus Marshall turned on him and fired. Victor just grinned, the bullet slamming into his side, and passing through. He extended his claws, and he could feel his eyes turn solid black. No one had ever asked him if it made any difference, when his eyes turned feral, but it did, it was almost like an infra-red camera, he could see what he could smell, he knew where every person in the camp was, and saw Jimmy sneaking up from the far side towards Marion.

"He'll waste more bullets than he's got." Victor said with a grin. A second bullet hit his shoulder and he laughed.

"DIE, you bastard!" Markus shouted, firing three shots in rapid succession.

"I can't, you bastard!" Victor fired back. Markus glared a moment, and then started to turn. Victor's heart froze in his chest as he leaped between Markus and Marion. The last bullet hit him in his back as he covered his wife and unborn child, he felt it pass through a lung, but worse, through his body. He felt hers jump under him and knew she'd been hit.

"I'll KILL YOU!" Victor roared, as Jimmy jumped from hiding to join him.

"Get her out." Victor snarled at his brother, as he jumped for Markus' throat.

He could hear fighting behind him and her whimpers of pain as she was dragged away, but he had to trust his brother to take care of her. Markus was in better shape than Victor realized and he actually was having difficulty dealing with the man, and his party. He had several workers at his feet, bleeding, but Markus had been pulled from his grasp.

"You can have the bitch. I've got her notes, and I'll be the toast of London when I return with MY find. I also have her Grand-Mother's ear, so you can plan on a nice long future in prison." Markus snarled. "She'll still be my wife; everything you thought to claim will be mine, along with that bastard she's carrying. She told me, thinking it would keep me from harming her, the little fool. I rather relish turning your demon spawn out into the cold, ripping it from its loving mother's arms and throwing it into some cesspool for orphans."

Victor heard a low call from the jungle and knew he was needed. It was Jimmy's signal to fight another day, and he chose to follow his brother's advice.

He sprang away, making it to the tree line followed by a hail of bullets. Jimmy better have her back where she couldn't be hit again. Victor jumped into the trees once he was out of sight of Marshall and his men. He took a scent and followed the scent of his frail's blood to the underbrush where they were taking shelter. He dropped down. Marion was conscious, but pale. The bullet hit her in the shoulder and Jimmy had bandaged it.

"What the hell happened?" Victor said.

"They hit us at dawn; they must have set camp fires before they left to mislead us as to how far away they were. I was on the platform and ducked into the jungle to try to flank them, but they took the camp easily. Marion was just waking and walked right into Marshall's arms. He tied her up, and searched your tent. She screamed at him…"

"I think I can talk." She snapped.

Victor glared. "We'll finish this after we're safe. Marion can you cling to my back?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Good! We're going up." He said. She wrapped an arm around his neck, and her legs around his waist and he climbed up the nearest tree. Jimmy's claws came out and he followed behind, to catch her if her strength gave out.

They made it to the sheltering canopy just in time, as Markus and his men found the underbrush cave that Jimmy and Marion had been hiding in.

"They were here. This has to be her blood. FIND THEM!"

They stayed silent in the canopy until the men exhausted every land avenue available to them and returned to camp. Over the last few weeks, when Marion had been busy in the tent, Victor had scouted several arboreal shelters and one of them was nearby. He'd reinforced it with vines and branches from other trees, and it was as safe a haven as they could hope for under the circumstances.

"Okay, this should be fairly safe; we can even build a small fire if necessary." Victor said.

"My hero." Marion snapped.

"Listen, woman, I got what you wanted out of there, I just have to sneak back and get it, I was a little more worried about your skinny neck than I was about a gold mask." He snarled.

"You got it, you saw her – the mask?" Here eyes were alight.

"Damned right I did…got it and the Ring of Solomon too." He snapped, "But I had to hide it to rescue you, so it's going to take a little bit to recover it.

"Victor, it doesn't matter…" She started.

"Yes it does, damn it." He pulled her close, his lips crashing down on hers. "I nearly lost you over it so by God; I'm going to get the damned artifacts."

He saw a realization in her eyes, and snarled.

"Victor…" Her voice was soft and breathy, her eyes warm and tender, and he glared at her, before surrendering and whispering softly.

"Damn it woman, I love you." He heard Jimmy snort, and glared at his brother, before pushing her away. "Keep her up here, no trips to the jungle floor. I'll be back."

It was easier for one person to sneak in. Marshall and his men were still busy at the camp, and Victor had left tactile markings on the walls of the tunnels to let him know where he was in the dark. He quickly found his pack, made sure by feel that the objects were inside, and started to slip back up the tunnel when he heard footsteps.

"Her notes say the throne room is this way…" Markus said.

"We don't care about no throne room, you promised us treasure." Another voice said, his waterfront accent harsh on Victor's ears.

"The Tomb is down that way, I suppose we can start there first." Victor waited until they passed and worked his way silently back to the entrance. There was only one guard, and he was not paying attention to what was behind him. Victor managed to slip past him, and made his silent way to the camp. He slipped into the cook tent and quickly gathered up some stores. They had a long journey to make, and hunting wasn't always going to be a viable option. Marion would need regular food, for her and the child. He also grabbed a first aid kit; he still hadn't checked her wound himself. He filled the rest of the pack with food, and, to his actual surprise made it back to the jungle without raising an alarm.

Once out of sight of the camps and guards, he took to the treetops, his path marked by his previous trips, and he quickly made the safety of their little camp.

"She's sleeping, but I think she's taking a fever." Jimmy said. Victor growled, but checked. Her skin was hot, but he'd brought things to help that. He removed the quick bandage Jimmy had put on her wound, and sniffed. He could smell infection setting in, and he pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his pack. He poured it on her wound, and then sent Jimmy with a canteen to get fresh water. He poured some of the whiskey on a rag and started bathing her skin with it. He kept pouring a little into the wound until the blood flowed freely, and he didn't smell any decay in it, and then bathed her skin again. She felt cooler to the touch by the time Jimmy returned. They built a small, almost smokeless fire, and Victor insisted on boiling the bandages before putting them on her wound.

They warmed some food, and, when she woke, they forced some soup into her. She quickly dropped off to sleep again, and they doused the fire after drinking their fill of water. Victor stored the clean water in the metal canteen they'd boiled the water in, and set it aside for her in the morning.

The two brothers shared the night watching over her, without a sound.

The next morning she woke, pale but the fever was gone, and Victor built another small fire and warmed up another can of soup. She ate all of it, and finished the canteen of boiled water.

"Are you able to move today?" He asked.

"I don't think so, not if we have to move through the trees." She said. He nodded. They'd take another day of rest, then strike for the coast, and the rough road to England.

"Did you get it?" She asked.

He opened the pack, digging down to the bottom where the wrapped mask lay, and pulled it out. He opened back the cloth covering, the ring nestled inside the reverse of the mask. He flipped it over to let her see.

She gasped. "It really is her." She whispered. She picked up the ring and studied it. There were actually two others in existence, and she smiled. "This is proof. She was one of his wives, not just a concubine." She whispered, clutching the heavy signet tightly.

He pried the ring out of her hands and wrapped the two back in the cloth and put them back in the bottom of the bag. She curled up, using the bag with the mask as a pillow and slept again. He stayed close. He didn't smell any danger to her or the child so he let her sleep.

"Victor, get some rest, I've got an idea on how to carry her and still be able to keep to the tree tops." Jimmy said.

Victor nodded, and curled his body around that of his wife. He didn't think he'd sleep, but he drifted off almost immediately.

When they woke, Jimmy had a harness rig woven out of vines. "We can share the burden of wearing it, and move faster among the treetops, at least until we have to go to ground."

"But how, all my maps, everything is in the camp. And Marshall has it all." She whimpered.

"Let him. We have the mask, and I don't need a damned map, all I have to do is follow his scent back and we'll get out just fine." Victor said, glaring back as if he could see the camp through the trees.

He insisted on carrying his wife most of the day, but Jimmy had a point, by nearly nightfall, he was winded. The extra weight made it difficult to move. They found another fairly safe bower, and settled in for the night. Moving through the trees was actually easier than moving across the jungle floor and he figured they'd put at least sixty to seventy miles between them and Marshall at the ruins.

They'd found the tree tops to be much more travel friendly, with fruit that the local primates guided them to as safe to eat. They would stop every two or three days to allow Victor and Jimmy to hunt, sticking to smaller animals; a large kill would be too much for them to have to carry.

Marion regained her strength slowly, but Victor was proud of her. She quickly took over the task of cooking, staying in their treetop bowers until one of the men brought her something to do. She spend days examining the mask, she'd found small inscriptions along the edges of the sections of the mask, and she was trying to determine if they were religious script to protect the Queen, or if they were images of tribal tattooing that had been lovingly recreated on the mask to guide her to the other world.

It took them longer to reach the coast, and by the time their feet actually touched ground again, other than crossing small savannahs or clearings that they could not find an arboreal route around, her belly began to slow them down.

"Damn you, Victor Creed." She snarled, as she tried to climb down from a tree. He caught her as she slipped. "If I could see my feet it wouldn't be so bad."

He chuckled, and was rewarded with a small kick from her belly. The baby was moving, and active, and though he teased her mercilessly about a son, he knew his child growing in her was a female. She was about half way through the pregnancy, and was glowing. Her shoulder had healed without incident, although she complained occasionally about pain, he knew he'd done his best for her and the child.

They made it back to Elmina, and luck was with them, Chenre was in port and took them immediately on board. It was a good thing he was an old friend and willing to wait for payment until they reached Tangiers, and then, being a good sport offered to take them all the way to Liverpool.

"I've got business in London to take care of, so time I returned to a civilized port." He laughed. The ship cut quickly through the waters of the Atlantic, and four weeks later, Victor was never so glad to see any soot covered city as he was Liverpool.

Marion groaned, but once her feet were on dry land again, smiled, holding her belly. The train to London was a quick and easy ride, but Victor felt dread building, and the guards at the train station didn't bode well.

"Duchess Clairmore, you are ordered to Buckingham Palace without delay." Two Army officers surrounded her.

"I'm not going anywhere without my husband and my brother-in-law." She said, head high.

"These two men are under arrest for kidnapping a member of the Royal family." They said.

"Oh, so NOW I'm Royal. I swear you people can't seem to get your story straight." She snapped, yanking her arm from the officer that gripped it tightly. "If I'm so damned royal, get your stinking common hands off of me."

The men backed up a step, but didn't move. The four men surrounding Victor and Jimmy moved tighter.

"Let me handle my Grand Mother." She said, softly.

"Marion." He said, eying her rounded belly. "I'm not sure she's going to be 'handled' not with you like that."

"I am not going anywhere unless accompanied by my husband." She said firmly. The officers faced a quandary. She was the granddaughter of Queen Victoria, so they couldn't force her to do anything, but she was under arrest until she spoke to her grandmother.

"I promise we will all accompany you to see her." Marion said simply, and the officers just nodded, two on either side of his wife, and the other four poking him and Jimmy in the back to follow them.

The audience was actually short and sweet. The Queen took one look at Marion, shook her head, and then demanded to know who was responsible. Victor stepped forward, without being prodded and stood at his wife's side. They were in a salon, not in a formal meeting room, so the Queen sat in a chair by the fire. She looked Victor up and down, demanded his name and station, clucked her tongue like a chicken, and then shrugged. She glared at Marion.

"You really want this marriage to stand?" She asked.

"Yes, Granddame, I do." She whispered.

"You think you love this ruffian?"

"I know I do." Marion replied.

"And you think he loves you." Victoria asked.

"I know I do." He said, she glared at him.

"I did not give you leave to speak." She snapped.

"Frankly I don't care." He snapped back. She backed up in her chair, then let out a loud bark of laughter.

"We are amused." She said.

From that moment on, he knew his troubles with his in-laws were over. Marion insisted they retire to her estate, and it was there his daughter drew her first breath. They named her Victoria Elizabeth Creed and her Great Granddame was quite amused. He actually settled down, his life seemed quite content. Marion was given credit for the discovery of Sheba, but retained ownership of the death mask after Markus returned with all the other discoveries from their camp. He was dragged before a court and spent nearly fifteen years in prison for several crimes he committed other than just what had happened in their little camp.

The mask hung on the wall in their bedroom; she loved the sight of it every morning she awoke. Victor never missed a moment with his Marion and Victoria, but one day business took him to London, and he left his girls at home. Marion was fussing about a new project, and Victoria was primping, her formal introduction to her Great Granddame was just a few weeks away, on her twelfth birthday.

The fire started in the kitchen, and by the time he returned home, the building was gone, only a few standing chimneys left of the ancient building. Marion made it out, but badly burned. Victoria had been pulled out, unharmed but not breathing. Smoke had taken his little girl from him. His beloved Marion followed, only a few days later. She held his hand through the pain, and only her dying eyes witnessed the tears in his. He went back to the rubble, sifting through, and there, untouched somehow by the scorching blaze, the death mask of a Queen lay gleaming.

XXXXXXXXXXXXx

"I still have it." He said softly, thinking about the golden mask hanging on a pedestal under a portrait of his girls.

"The mask?" She asked.

"Yes." He was silent after that. His eyes were heavy and he needed sleep.

"Hold my hand." She whispered, and he slipped his through the crack to meet her small one in between.

"Was she your last wife?" Kaitlyn asked.

"No." He said simply. He wasn't ready to remember the others. Marion took a lot of him, and he needed to rest before thinking about the other women in his life.

"You said your last wife died fifty years ago? How many have you had?"

"Counting you?" He growled.

She chuckled. "Yes."

"Five."

She was quiet after that, and he let his eyes drift shut to her soft snores. There wasn't anything he could do right now, and sleep would help him suffer what was to come.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N Thank you for all the reviews, and no I'm no where near done with Victor's past.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He struggled as they pulled him out of the low cell again. When he woke, he was being dragged past the door. His head was down, while they dragged him by his arms and shoulders, and he allowed himself a little grin. The effectiveness of whatever drug they were using was starting to wear off. He continued to hang limp, he knew it wouldn't be long before he'd be able to get out of here. His problem was the girl, he'd taken her on, just like the others and now, he had to figure out how to get her out, without getting both of them recaptured and a new drug used that he couldn't fight.

He played possum while they rigged him into the table, removed his loincloth, and wiped his genital area with an antiseptic wipe. The female that had been involved in yesterday's rape ran gloved hands up his emaciated form.

"I can't believe he's still alive. Every blood test we've done has shown he's in advanced stages of starvation, even with the increase in the food we've been giving him."

A male voice, over the speaker, said "Increase his feeding to twice per day, increase his electrolyte consumption as well, we don't want his extraordinary ability to give out."

"I will instruct the guards." The woman said. "Bring in the first girl."

He watched the whole procedure through his lidded eyes. His head was strapped to the table, but he relaxed against the restraints. They wouldn't know he was awake unless they had some kind of biometric monitoring on him, and he hadn't seen anything when they hooked him up.

This one was older than the first, probably fifteen or sixteen; she was unconscious, just like he was supposed to be. They quickly strapped her to the table, and then maneuvered the tables into position.

"He should be waking soon." The woman said, he'd finally gotten a good look at her and placed her on his mental kill list. The bitch would die for what she'd done to his mate. He wanted to shake his head at the thought, but that would ruin his plan to learn as much as possible about what they were really doing.

"Take your men out." He listened as the guards left the room, they'd be back to take him back to his cell.

He pretended to wake up, and evidently they'd not been monitoring him as closely as he thought. He was beginning to wonder if they even monitored the cells.

He raged and roared just like before, but the whole time his mind was working. He fought the penetration as much as he could, snapping and snarling, but like the day before he had no recourse.

"Subject three inseminated. Bring in Subject twelve." The woman's voice said. He growled as the female in front of him, table and all was whisked out of his sight and another table, with another female locked into place in front of him. This one was older, probably near twenty-five, her eyes were blank, as if SHE wasn't home, only her body was strapped to the table.

He wondered what these specimens had to endure while he was locked in almost total isolation.

This one went the same as the first, then he heard the guards come in, and the sting of the drug in his IV. He passed out.

"Damn, he's still too fucking heavy and they want us to put some more meat on his bones." One of the guards was saying as they dragged him down a corridor. It was still above ground, there were windows, and he could see and feel sunlight on his skin. They propped him up, to open a door and he was able to see snow and ice on the mountains outside the window.

He let them drag him the rest of the way to the oubliette, mapping the course in his mind. Three turns, one door, ten steps down, another door, another fifteen steps down, another corridor, then the familiar sound of the door at the end of his prison opening. He could get to the hallway with the windows, bust out one and try to make it in the cold. They threw him into his cell and re-chained him to the wall. He could hear whimpering from the cell next to him and had to bite back the warning growl.

"Don't worry, pretty, you're time is coming soon." One of the guards said outside the door to her cell. "And I can't wait; The Man will give you to us, then. You're gonna get fucked by your friend here, and then you're gonna get fucked by all of us. We've already had some of the others, the ones he thinks won't breed true, and soon, we'll get a crack at your pussy too." He laughed crudely and then banged on Victor's door as he passed.

"Rise and Shine, Romeo. Food's waiting." Victor pretended to stir.

He waited until he heard the door at the end of the hall close, and then leaned back on the wall adjoining her cell.

"We're gonna get out of here." He said.

"How?" She whispered.

"For right now, just let me worry about that part, but if I ever tell you to run, just do it." He growled.

He heard a slight sob, and then "Yes, I promise."

"Good."

"I need ta ask you something." He said.

"Anything."

"Do you have a brother or sister?" He asked. He'd picked up a scent that was too damned close upstairs, as they were dragging him down.

"Half brother and sister." She said. "My father's children by his first wife; they were the reason he married my mother. They ran up huge debts that his estates couldn't pay, so, because of some crazy law from back in the Bonnie Prince's day, he couldn't claim the McCauslin sept's lands because there were living heirs in the States. He tracked down my mother, and married her. She died when I was five, and two months later my brother tried to trample me with a horse."

"Lovely family you got there kid." He snapped. It looked like she knew a bit about betrayal from those supposed to love and protect her.

"Why do you think I've been in boarding school since I was six?" She said with a bitter laugh.

"Sounds like a good reason to me." He said. He was starting to think this whole damned thing wasn't about him, but about her. He wasn't sure and wanted to get some more information before making any accusations, especially about her family. He knew just how hard that betrayal could be.

"Why did you ask?"

"Wanted ta know more about ya, frail." He growled.

"Not much to tell. Grew up with a bunch of nuns, I'd get to spent a summer every now and then with my grand-parents in the states, but they died six years ago. I've got a couple aunts and cousins on that side, but haven't seen them in years."

"No other family?"

"No, just my father, the twins, and my aunts and cousins in America, the McCauslin clan died out in Scotland almost a century ago." She said.

"Family can be a pain in the ass." He said.

"You only have your brother, right, and your late wives." She chuckled at that.

"No, I've got two living kids, somewhere. One I've never met, or seen. He was created in a lab kinda like this, only genetically modified before birth. I have another kid by the same mother that's a real pain in my ass." He said.

"I guess I thought, with the stories, you didn't have any family."

"I don't. Jimmy's – well he doesn't remember or speak to me anymore. The one child I've never seen, the other, well he's out to kill all mutants in the world, so don't really claim him, and their mother, she's a bitch, wouldn't have willingly had kids with her, if I'd had the choice at the time." He said.

"Wow, bitter much." She laughed.

He chuckled. "Sometimes."

"Why?"

"Jezebel." He said simply.

"Wife number three?" She asked

"Yep."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

He glared at the column of numbers in front of him. One of these days everything would snap and make sense, numbers always did for him, but for now, the probabilities and prospectus of the market swings were still new to him.

Mr. Layton Landry had given him a job in his brokerage house; he worked in a bull-pen with about one hundred other brokers, trying to get a handle on the ticker tape and translating that into a probability of what stocks to buy. He was quietly investing his and Jimmy's money, trying to find a way to increase their wealth, without risking their necks, or their secrets.

After Marion and Victoria's deaths he'd actually stayed in England, at least until the old lady died. She'd actually wanted him to be one of her pallbearers in her state funeral, but he'd turned it down. For all that Marion had been illegitimate, in many ways, she was a favored grand-daughter, and somehow Victor had managed to gain favor with the old woman as well.

He'd let the estate go wild, the house still lay in ruins, and he only went to sit by their graves and talk to his girls. He wasn't planning another trip to England for several years. It was a new century, and after Queen Victoria's funeral in aught one, he'd come back to New York.

The door to the offices opened and Mrs. and the Misses Landry walked in. Every man in the bull-pen stopped and watched them walk across the floor. Mrs. and the eldest Miss Landry were stunning women, stop traffic in the middle of the street beautiful, and every man in that pen envied Mr. Landry. The younger girl, Jezebel, seemed plain next to her mother and sisters, she took after her father. Victor felt a little sorry for the girl.

He turned back to his ticker tape.

A few days later, Jimmy showed up at the door to his small apartment.

"Vic, I'm heading east for a while, wanna come?"

"No, gonna stay here, work out this damned brokerage shit. The market is good, we should be able to make quite a bit, if I can ever get the damned math straight." Victor said. He'd installed a tickertape machine in the apartment and worked day and night trying to grasp the concept. He was going to conquer this yet.

"Your loss." Jimmy laughed.

"Have fun." Victor grinned. It was time, they'd spent almost the first seventy years of their lives together, and Jimmy needed to get out on his own.

"I'll wire when I get where ever I'm going." Jimmy said.

"Okay." Victor bent back to his tapes.

A few days later, he saw young Miss Landry again. She was sitting in a carriage waiting for her sister to come out of a dress shop. Victor stopped.

"Hello, Miss Landry."

"I'm sorry do I know you?" She asked.

"I work for your father; you probably don't even see us in the pens." He laughed.

"You're the one Father says has potential." She laughed.

"I don't know about that." He replied. The elder Miss Landry walked up and he bowed and assisted her into the carriage. He bowed to both ladies as the carriage pulled away. That girl needed some attention.

For the next several weeks he saw her at the office several times, and made it a point to look for her on the street. One afternoon, she was sitting in the outer reception area, and he could smell the salt of her tears.

He sat down next to her on the bench that served as a waiting area for clients of Mr. Landry.

"What's wrong?" He asked

"Father, he's trying to marry me off, and I don't want to marry some stuffy old Duke." She whimpered.

"Not all Dukes are stuffy." He laughed.

"But they're all old." She replied, with a laugh.

"I can't argue there." He said.

Just then Landry came out and saw them talking.

"Creed, a word with you please." He stood quickly and with a slight bow to Miss Landry, followed her father into his office.

"Have a seat, Mr. Creed." Victor sat down in one of the chairs across the desk from Mr. Landry.

"I know that you are newly come from England, I understand that your late wife was, well less than careful of her reputation, but here in America, our young ladies value reputation above all things." Mr. Landry started. Victor fumed. How dare he insult Marion like that; he didn't know a thing about Victor's wife.

"You have been seen conversing with my daughter, in public, and without chaperones. My daughter claims you have compromised her reputation, and this has ruined her chances at a good social marriage." Victor let out a low growl.

"Do you have something to say?" Mr. Landry asked.

"I think you're both pathetic. You treat that child as if she were invisible because she doesn't compare to your wife or your other daughter. Now you're trying to foist her off on me based on a couple conversations on the street. You have a lot of nerve trying to extort me into marrying the girl." He snapped claws and fangs flashing.

"I assure you, my daughter claims it was more than a few conversations on the street." Mr. Landry said. "You will either redeem my daughter's reputation, or I will have you in court for breach of promise, you will be fired, and there will not be a single brokerage in the world that will hire you once I'm done with you." Landry's voice rose, and so did the volume of Victor's growl.

"Go to fucking hell." He snapped. Nothing was worth this, certainly not that little chit of a girl sitting out in the waiting area. Marry a Duke indeed. Somehow they'd found out about the title passing to him when Marion died, and wanted to get a dose of royal blood into their pathetic bloodline.

"Mr. Creed, I am quite serious about this. Either agree to the engagement, or clean out your desk." A part of Victor wanted to rip the man's head off, and it was taking every bit of willpower to keep from doing it. He'd been so careful, keeping his head down, wanting to learn how to ensure that he and Jimmy had a secure future, financially, that he'd almost forgotten about the darker instincts buried inside his frame.

"Fuck you, and your bitch daughter." Victor snapped, the growl vibrating through the floor.

"I'll give you twenty-four hours to do the right thing." Landry said. Victor stormed out of his office, the bench empty as he passed, or he might have just killed the conniving bitch right then and there. He stormed back to his apartment, a seething anger like he hadn't felt in years burning in his gut. He actually needed to kill something – or someone. He packed a bag for a short camping trip, and then realized he had no way of getting out of the city to have someplace to hunt. He grinned, why leave the city. There were hunting grounds all over the place, and thousands of people that wouldn't be missed.

He grabbed a black leather coat that Marion had made for him, it was a western 'duster' style and every time he wore it he thought of his girls, but tonight, it would serve a different purpose. The leather had a dull finish, almost like rawhide, and wouldn't reflect light to betray his position. He pulled on an old pair of black work pants and a black shirt. He climbed out his window, and up to the rooftops. In years to come, they would call his nightly hunts and kills the work of a serial killer known as "The Slasher."

He didn't care young or old, male or female, rich or poor; there was no rhyme or reason to his killing. His first victim, that night was a prostitute who's only real crime was she looked like Jezebel Landry. He didn't even bother with sex; he'd never been one to fuck where others did. He preferred his women, if not pure, than at least not over used. She never saw him coming, and by the time he was done, the alley where he killed her was covered in blood and entrails.

He returned to his apartment the same way he left, cleaned up, and then actually gave serious thought to what Landry said. The girl claimed he'd compromised her. Victor actually shrugged. He'd been alone almost a decade, and the idea of having someone to meet his physical needs wasn't something he was adverse to. He just hated the idea of being forced into it. He'd actually been considering courting the Landry girl, so it wasn't even that far off his own intentions.

He was surprised how clearly he was thinking, now that the boiling rage was gone. He made his decision, and grinned at himself in the washroom mirror. She was going to be his, and even he felt a small thrill of fear looking into his own eyes. Twice he'd married for expediency and both times learned lessons about himself. Vivian taught him what love was, Marion taught him about passion and true happiness, but also that it was fleeting. This time, he was marrying for hate, to punish the one who was trying to claim him. He just hoped she had the stomach for what she thought she wanted.

He walked into the Landry offices and right into Mr. Landry's office.

"Fine, set everything up, just tell me where to be and when. I don't want to see the little bitch until then." He snarled at Landry.

"Victor, this doesn't have to be…" Landry started.

"Oh, yes it does." Victor roared back. "MY terms, Landry; and you'd better hope my mood improves before the wedding night. I'm taking the rest of the day off."

He stormed back through the reception area, and didn't slow down until he was halfway home. She certainly wasn't going to want to live in his small apartment. He shrugged. It wasn't that important, she was just going to have to live with it.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The door to the corridor slammed open, and then the one to his cell.

"Meal time." The guard croaked, throwing a large packet of food into his cell.

She waited until the doors closed again before asking "You really hated her didn't you?"

"Her no, at the time all the rage was directed at her father, it was later I realized just how manipulative a bitch she was." He passed as many small pieces of food through the crack in the wall as he could, and one of the smaller bottles of sports drink they'd included in this package.

"So how long were you married to her?" He heard her open the drink.

"Five years." He chuckled. "She was the only one I divorced."

"Divorced? I thought that was nearly impossible back then?"

"Not when you had grounds, good grounds." Victor said, the rage of that betrayal still simmered.

"What grounds?"

"Jimmy came for a visit, I caught them in bed." Victor said simply.

"OH! Shit!" She gasped.

"Wasn't that a sin?" he teased her.

"Ehh a couple Hail Mary's when you get us out of here, I'm good." She laughed. He was really starting to like this one, even though he'd never seen her face.

"At least my brother realized his mistake, and testified in court, but the bitch never did, not to her dying day. I only realized after I'd been away from her for a while, that she really did bring out the absolute worst in me, but by that time, it was out, and aware, and hungry for more blood. Luckily World War One wasn't that far away, and I was able to slake the blood lust on the battle field, and not hunting in the city."

"Do you still hunt, like that?"

"Sometimes."

"You said they called you 'The Slasher." Have you had other names?" She asked. He laughed.

"Yes, Slasher, El Tigre, Der Schlächter as the Germans called me after World War Two."

"And now?"

"They call me Sabretooth."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N Only one more past wife to go, and then…well you will just have to wait and see.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Sabretooth?" She asked. He waited for some sign of fear, some sign of recognition, but after a few moments all he could smell was curiosity.

"Yeah, actually, my last wife came up with it." He said.

"So Jezebel was before World War I, how long until you married again?" She asked.

"It took me a while. Between Jez and Jimmy, I had issues with trusting anyone for a long time. Celia, well she took me by surprise, but I guess they all did, in one way or the other. She wasn't a girl when I met her, but a full woman grown, a widow in her own right." He thought back to that day.

XXXXXXXXXX

He was pacing, prowling through the hallways of the Museum. Jez wanted money, again and he wasn't about to give in to his ex-wife. He was completely through with her, they'd been divorced twenty five years almost, and he wasn't about to let her get anywhere near him again.

He was back in New York, he couldn't understand the appeal the city had for him, but with the market going as well as it was, he was finally making a legal killing in stocks. He'd just sold a group he was concerned about, and the profit was enough that he didn't have to worry about money for a very long time. He was about to celebrate his one hundredth birthday, and wasn't sure what he wanted to do.

He was alone, Jimmy was off doing something, and that suited Victor just fine. Since Jez, he'd had a hard time trusting Jimmy, something he never would have thought could happen. Blood was thicker than water, but he just couldn't forgive Jimmy for some reason.

He was prowling through a new wing, they'd renamed the museum, it was now New York City Museum of Natural History, and they had a whole wing devoted to pre-historic animals and man. He moved lightly, on the balls of his feet, there wasn't a sound of his passing as he prowled from one exhibit to the next. He barely noticed a woman sitting on a bench; his eyes were focused on a painting of a group of animals, a herd of large elephant like animals with long curved tusks and thick brown wool. One of them was down, with several lean cats, their coat smooth, with just a hint of a stripe, and long tusk like teeth from the upper jaw. There were horse-like animals with thick fur, and all against a backdrop of a glacial wall.

"Oh." He heard a gasp nearby. "I didn't hear you come in." He could smell salt, and let out a mental groan. Frails and their tears.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you." He said, his attention still focused on the painting. Something about the cats felt familiar, and he could imagine the power of their bodies as they moved across the tundra.

"You didn't." She said.

He looked for a signature on the painting. Many of the works in the new wing were done by current artists and he was seriously considering trying to buy a copy of this one for his new house in the Hamptons.

"Are you looking for something?" She asked as he leaned in to try to make out the signature.

"Yeah, who did the painting." He said.

"C. Stoutman." She said softly.

"I am going to have to look them up." He said. "I'd like a copy of this, or maybe just the section with the cats."

"Ah, it's old man Sabretooth that draws your attention." The tears had stopped, and her voice seemed lighter.

"Is that what it's called?" He asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is a complete skeleton, excavated by Dr. Reginald Stoutman on display in the next room." She said. He caught a scent of sadness, and turned to look at her.

She wasn't young, not by his standards, anyway. She had to be almost thirty-five. Her chestnut hair had a few streaks of silver in it, even pulled up in the bun she was wearing. Her eyes were piercing, their chocolate orbs seeming to pin him to the wall, even with the dampness on the lashes from her tears. Her nose was crinkled and her mouth was made to smile, although he could tell it hadn't had much chance lately.

It was also a mouth made to kiss, and that thought shocked him for a moment. He hadn't actually enjoyed spending time with a woman for more than base needs since Marion died, and after Jez, he thought he never would again, but this woman brought out something in him, a need he hadn't felt in more years than he wanted to think about. He wanted to know her, not just use her. There was something in her face, her demeanor that demanded attention.

"Any relation to the artist?" He asked.

"Her husband." She replied. "Late husband."

"I see." And he did. It made sense, the lingering sadness around her, her sitting on the bench in front of her work, mourning the husband she lost. He'd never thought about what it would be like for a woman, to lose her partner, her mate, he'd been through it twice, and knew how it seemed to rip him open with a wound that he thought would never heal.

"I have several smaller works in my studio." She said, pointing to the painting.

"I'd be very interested to see them. I just bought a house and I'm trying to decorate it. Actually, I've been in the market for an artist who can paint from a description." He said.

"I had to do that with these, there are no living animals like them, and all I've had was the bones to work from." She said.

"Your husband, how did he die?"

"Malaria, from his last dig." She said. He nodded. "I didn't even get to say good-bye to him." He actually caught her as she crumbled, her head resting on his arm as he guided her to her seat again. He held her, as no one had been able to hold him, and his heart went out to her. He started talking, about Marion, whose interests were so close to her husbands, and before long her tears dried again, and they talked until the guards came to close the exhibit for the night.

"This is the address to my studio." She said as they stood on the steps outside the museum. "I would love for you to come and see some of the other works I have."

"I would like that. I would also like to see if you can really capture someone from a description." She smiled as he said it.

"Come by tomorrow." She said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So did you?" Kaitlyn asked.

"Yes." He stopped. He heard the doors opening again.

They walked past his door and opened hers. He heard noises like kissing, and a solid lump land on the floor. He waited, and a few minutes later he heard the guard.

"Just a few more days, beautiful, till I get a good taste of that pussy of yours." He hissed into the cell, Victor's hands clenched, wanting to rip the man to shreds. "Tomorrow you're on the table, and then as soon as the damned brat is seated well, then we all get a turn or two, who knows, maybe I'll make you my favorite. Oh and fight all you want, that will just make it sweeter."

Victor's growl reverberated through both cells.

"Oh, the big kitty cat thinks he can save you." The man's laugh echoed hollowly. "He'll be the first one to taste you puss." The man laughed all the way out of the corridor and Victor could hear it even after the door slammed shut.

He could smell her fear, and knew he needed to calm her down.

"Kaitlyn, remember, it's not a sin, and we'll be out of here before anyone else can touch you." He said softly.

Her sob ripped through him, and he cursed not being able to hold her in her fear. Damn his soft spot for frails and their tears.

"I went to the studio the next morning…" he started

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I was hoping you'd come." She said. He suddenly realized he didn't know her first name.

"I am very interested in those paintings." He said. "I'm Victor, Victor Creed."

"Celia, Celia Stoutman." She replied, holding out her hand. He took it and lifted it to his lips. He was far more than interested in the paintings; he was becoming dangerously interested in their creator.

"I have something to show you." She pulled a sketch pad out of a drawer and opened it. "I couldn't stop thinking about our talk yesterday; I sketched all night, trying to remember the details you'd given me."

He really didn't know what she was talking about, until she turned the paper to face him. It was Marion, as he remembered her; one strand of her hair escaped from the bun on the back of her head, and dropping over her eye. He wanted to reach out and brush it away as he had countless times. Her eyes were focused on something in front of her, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she worked on something in front of her. The freckles he remembered kissing dotted her nose and cheekbones, and her eyebrows were furrowed, the little ridge between them that he'd always loved to smooth away.

His eyes swam for a moment, and he blinked. His tears were very private, and he wasn't ready to share them with this woman, this amazingly talented woman.

"That is her." He said, his voice choked.

"Good. You'd mentioned looking to commission some work from description only." She said.

"Yes, and actually I need three portraits, one for each of my wives." He said softly, unable to tear his eyes away from the black and white sketch. "I would like the one of Marion to include our daughter Victoria."

"It will mean sitting down and telling me about them." She said.

"I believe I will enjoy that part the most." He said, his emotions getting the better of him.

She smiled and, he almost groaned as she put the sketch away. He was suddenly unsure of the idea. Could he live with their portraits, remembering them every day?

"Come and see what I've pulled for you to look at." She said, leading him into another room. On a stand in the middle of the room were three finished paintings. One was the scene with the cats from the museum, with more detail. One was a grouping of the ancient cats, curled up, sunning themselves on some rocks, the glacial wall gleaming in the distance. And the third was a male, standing on a rock, mouth open in a primal roar Victor could almost hear, the body of a kill beneath him under the rock, a female resting on the rock behind him. He could feel the triumph of the great cat, the ancient mastodon's blood dripping on his fangs.

"I like that one." He pointed to the male.

"I thought you would. Reginald thought it was too fierce for a museum piece, but I couldn't help but think it would find someone who appreciated it. You remind me of him, old man Sabretooth. I think I'll call you that." She laughed.

They talked a while longer about the other paintings, and in the end he purchased all three, but he knew the male spoke to him from the canvas. He left after making an appointment for the portraits he wanted done, and she said she'd have the paintings delivered the next day.

For several months they met once or twice a week, as he told her about the women in his life. She never mentioned his age, or even questioned his appearance. Throughout this, the city began to tremble as the markets crashed; the world they knew came to a sharp and devastating end. Victor's money was safe, as was Celia's, and with her talent, she'd be able to survive no matter what. It was like they were in a bubble, protected from the financial crisis around them.

Within a month he knew he wanted her, needed her as his wife, but it took him over a year to convince her. She told him about Reginald, about how he'd been a friend of her father's, she'd loved him since she was a little girl, and losing him had made her feel her life was over. He shared his grief over Marion, and Vivian with her, even his anger and betrayal from Jez, and they found solace with each other.

She'd sworn never to marry again, she couldn't provide children to a husband, she was unable. It had been her one grief in her fifteen years of marriage that she couldn't give Reginald the son he wanted.

Victor didn't care. He'd had wives that died trying to give him a son, he'd had a child with Marion, now he just wanted a companion, someone that was there, someone to share with. He didn't trust Jimmy anymore, not for sharing a life. They were brothers, they always would be, but he couldn't share his pain with Jimmy, couldn't share his grief, Jimmy had no idea what it was like.

Celia did, they became friends first, and he was patient, wearing her down until she admitted she loved him, that marriage was inevitable between them.

She was the one that taught him that love was long, that he could love a woman in the fullness of her life, through her life, and when, in nineteen-sixty, she took her last breath in his arms, that it could be peaceful, and he could have memories tinged only with sadness, with out the horrible pain of loss, because she'd lived a full life.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Try to sleep." He said, her yawns bringing his story to a close.

"I don't know if I can." He put his hand through the crack and felt her fingers close around his.

"I'll be here." He whispered. "I won't let them take you without waking you first."

"Victor." Her voice caught in her throat. "If they're going to…if you can't get us out before they…kill me, find a way."

"NEVER!" He roared. "They can hurt your body, yes, but they can't touch your soul. You are my wife, my mate, and I will avenge, and then heal you. Do you understand me?"

"How can you…"

"Just sleep. I will get us out. You just trust me, we'll get out alive, and the only man that will touch you will be your husband."

She sobbed, and her fingers clenched around his, he held on until the sobs settled into hiccups, and then light snores as she dropped off to sleep. He sat there, waiting to hear the door open, waiting for his chance to break out, and free them both.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N and now to the meat blood and guts of the story. And time for our heroine to speak as well! Xxxxxxxx

He woke to an empty hand and her screams in his ears. He had to maintain his calm. They couldn't see he was agitated or they'd be more watchful when they came to get him.

"Dance, pretty, dance all you want..." Something was slammed against his door, and he looked up, all he saw was her eyes, and streaks of what would be copper red hair when it was clean. The eyes, so full of both terror and trust nearly broke his calm demeanor, but for her sake he had to ignore their emerald plea. "That there, that animal is gonna fuck you today...and when he's done, me and the boys will get our turn."

She screamed, inarticulate, and he let out a growl. He wanted them to think he was almost all animal now. Guards get sloppy when they think they are dealing with an animal. He needed them to be sloppy.

They dragged her through the door at the end of the corridor. Why hadn't they sedated her? He hoped it wasn't because they'd figured out it wasn't working on him. If so, escape was going to be harder than he was planning.

About a hour later the door to his cell opened and he growled and snarled, snapping and slashing at them with his claws. He had to stop his sigh of relief when they pulled out the syringe.

"Nighty-night, Lover boy." The guard he most wanted to kill hissed as the needle hit his vein.

He woke just a few feet passed the corridor door, but kept his body limp. He counted stairs and turns again, making sure he knew exactly how to get to the cells, just in case they had more than one female for him today. They strapped him onto his table, this time strapping his head so he could only look straight ahead. They were fools if they thought he relied that much on sight.

They set him upright and into position.

"Bring in the female." The woman's voice said. He was definitely ready to gut that bitch.

They'd covered her face. She'd been cleaned, her hair and eyes the only thing he could see to identify her, but it was her scent and heartbeat. He could see the terror in her eyes, and forced himself not to acknowledge it.

He glanced to her left hand, somehow she'd managed to hang onto the ring. She was his, and as soon as they relaxed after the procedure he would kill anything that got in his way of getting them both out safely.

She whimpered as they maneuvered the tables into position, and he nearly bit through his tongue to keep from comforting her. He felt the burn in the IV, but didn't respond. He glanced at her perfect breasts and imagined being able to rest his head between them, to taste the sweat off her skin. That did it, and the woman running the procedure didn't seem to notice the slower reaction time. He took one moment to glance into her eyes, and the trust there almost broke him. He couldn't make this any easier for her, she would feel nothing but pain from this, what technically was their wedding night.

He tried not to feel as they positioned him, he braced for the charge, but they seemed to have doubled the amps. The one thing he'd been hoping to do to ease this, tuned into a violent forward thrust that forced a bloodcurdling scream from her lips. The next charge was as strong, and she screamed again. It was taking every bit of his control not to scream with her. They could not be allowed to see that they'd bonded.

Finally, after they'd forced him to spill his seed three times into her, the procedure ended. They hit him with the sedative, and were just unstrapping him from the table when he heard gun shots.

He tried to force himself fully awake, but the men, dressed in black, with face coverings, night vision goggles and carrying assault weapons burst into the lab. They ripped the cover off of her face, and he finally could see the fifth Mrs. Creed. She had a slightly upturned nose, and full lips, her high cheekbones and slightly pointed chin made him think of fairies Victoria used to draw for him. He let out a small groan, followed by a roar as the guns opened fire on him.

"It's her." One of the men said with a British accent.

Victor heard a voice over a radio, also a Brit, "Get her out of there, and kill the rest, then burn it."

He watched helpless as one of the men threw her over his shoulder, and took off out of the room. One of the damned bullets had severed his spine in the neck, and that was a bitch to grow back.

One of the men stood over him, and Victor felt the world go black, two sounds followed him into the blackness, the bark of a gun in his ear, and his name in her scream as they carried her away.

He woke to excruciating pain. Most of the flames had missed him, so he was only partly roasted, the wound in his head and the one in his neck were healed and he worked his way slowly to his feet. The place had been almost completely torched, very professional job. He grew more and more pissed as he looked around the room, or what was left of it.

Every single person he'd been fantasizing about killing were already dead, and not even gruesomely either, clean kill shots.

He worked his way into the corridors, but all he found were the blackened remains of people killed, cleanly, professionally, and worst of all, indiscriminately. The girls they'd forced him on lay dead in their cells, along with the ones he hadn't seen yet.

He was the only living thing left.

He had no idea who they were or why they'd grabbed his mate, but by God he was going to find out.

The snow was cool against his singed flesh as he worked his way toward a group of lights in the distance. No one had come to see about the fire, there was no sign it had been fought at all.

The lights were further than he'd estimated, and his body temperature was dropping. It was uncomfortable, but not threatening. He was less concerned about being cold as he was the trail of flesh dropping off his body as he healed. Finally he found a group of pines and pushed into the middle. There was enough space for him to lay down and rest, as well as enough dry material to build a fire and get warm.

Tomorrow he'd get clothes and food, and find a phone and make some calls. He didn't know who had her, but he was going to find out, and get whatever revenge he felt appropriate based on how they treated his mate.

Xxxxxxxx

She glared at the man in front of her. For six weeks she'd been kept in a room, until she just flat refused anymore. She'd gone on a hunger strike, but then they'd held her down and force fed her. She thought the pregnancy test had been humiliating enough, so she behaved to an extent after that..

"I'm tellin ya, get rid o' it!" He father yelled at her.

Kaitlyn didn't speak, just glared.

"I willna have this bastard in mah house." His brogue got stronger the angrier he got.

"Ye'll do what ye're told." Her brother Daniel said, Kaitlyn didn't even grace him with a glance. She just clung to the stone band on her hand and sent up another prayer that her husband find her soon. She had to have faith, because the scene she'd watched out the helicopter window as they flew off looked like a scene from hell, and she'd doubted for a moment he had survived. She trusted him, and right now that faith was all that was keeping her sane.

Her nurse - ne bodyguard, ne jailor, - grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the stairs.

"I've a visitor from America commin', so don't ya be wailin at yer door." Her father commanded as she was dragged away.

They made the first landing when a knock on the main door stopped everyone. "Get the git upstairs." Her brother demanded. She'd always avoided the twins but they were both here and had been for the last six weeks. They also had some kind of white noise jammer that kept her from hearing what was said when she was locked away.

Suddenly she stopped, digging her heels in. She knew that scent. She didn't know what miracle God had pulled out of his ass, or if it was just the pure sin that was Victor Creed, but only a few planks of ancient oak separated her from her mate.

She yanked her arm out of her nurse's grip and ran back down the stairs. She would have recognized him anywhere, but even she was shocked by they physical change in him. Gone were the long tangled locks of hair, in its place, a short cropped military style hair cut that made his blonde mane look darker than it was. His face was clean shaven, except for his neatly trimmed old fashioned thick sideburns. His body was covered in expensive wool, a designer double breasted suit, the filth and dirt of his confinement long washed away. He was reaching to shake her father's hand when she leaped the last few feet and wrapped herself tightly around him.

She felt, more than heard the warning growl, and dropped to the floor confused.

Her father was apologizing for her behavior, and Victor was nodding, she wanted to cry, but as he turned to pick up the briefcase he'd dropped, he gave her a very exaggerated wink that only she could see. He was here and for her. Her nightmare was almost over.

XXXXXX

He hated having to let her go. The last six weeks had been pure hell. The things he'd had to do, deals he'd had to make just to get the chance to rescue her from her sick family were bad enough, but the damned constant worry, he'd forgotten about that aspect of having a wife.

The smell of the cub was enough to make him want to kill everyone in the house. They were giving her something to force her to lose it, and he didn't think anything could stop that now. He could tell she knew, the way she held her body, protective of her stomach, but he didn't think she knew the cub was already dead.

Her brother and sister would die for that. HIS cub was dead because of them, them and their damned plan to kill her. The whole damned point of the whole mess had been to knock up Kaitlyn, get her to delivery, and then kill her and deliver the baby surgically, so they could have the child to control, and control her lands and money. How the brother found out that female ferals were vulnerable at delivery, the one time their healing factor went down completely to allow for a healthy delivery, he didn't know.

Victor had only found that out about three weeks ago.

He had to get her out of their hands, and soon. His plan had been to come as a potential investor in one of MacFairland's schemes, meeting her, pretending to fall, then a quick run to a priest, and she'd be safe with him. That plan was out.

Plan B was far more his style, and with all the players in place, and an actual sanction on the action, thanks to having to owe SHIELD and Bess, as he called her Royal Majesty, a favor, he was going to take great pleasure in killing the twins. The father, he didn't think had anything to do with it, but from what he'd heard while standing outside the door, he was still on Victor's hit list.

Bess's only request was that he leave at least one heir alive, and since his wife was an heir, that wasn't a problem. Being related, even by marriage, to the current monarch did have its perks. He felt his best, or worst smile curl his lip. He was taking her with him tonight, after he slaked his bloodlust on those who'd planned the whole thing.

"Daniel, Sylvia, this is Mr. Howlett from tha States." MacFairland said as they walked into the study.

Victor's smile grew as he watched the blood drain from the twins faces. Oh, they knew the truth, and that was the last piece of evidence he needed. The rest would be sweet satisfaction.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N It's just not Victor without a little blood and gore! Sorry so long on the cliffy - believe it or not I've been working, just Real Life interfering again with writing.

XXXXXXXX

She heard a gunshot, and then screaming, she tried to push past her nurse, but he shoved her down on the hallway floor. She jumped to her feet in a rage she'd never felt before. Her claws extended, and the man pulled a gun. She just grinned at him. She rushed him before he could bring the gun to bear on her. She felt something hot and thick splash across her face. The thick smell of copper seemed to go to her head, and she turned away from the body behind her, and ran down the stairs on all fours.

She heard the screams cut off abruptly, and slammed against the locked study door. She could smell her mate in there and needed to get to him.

She scented her sire, his fear was suffocating. She felt hands grab her from behind and began to fight against them. She scratched and bit and wrestled until she was forced to the hardwood floor outside the study, she screamed, and the study door flew open.

Victor stood there covered in blood.

Xxxxxxx

He hated interruptions while he worked. He could smell her outside the door, fresh blood coating her scent like an expensive perfume. He worked his shoulder as the bullet worked it's way out. It was always the female, it never failed. It was always the female that surprised him.

He glared at the two bodies on the floor, the male had been simple, he knew all he needed to know about his brother-in-law's involvement with his mate's kidnapping and torture. The frail's sobbed confession told him she'd been the one to develop the drugs, and that she'd been the one to kill the cub his mate still carried.

The male, he'd simply eviscerated, his entrails bursting from the wounds like spring snakes from a joke box. The frail, he'd spent a little more time with her, ripping out her empty womb and forcing her to eat it as she died.

The old man, he'd spared. He'd been shocked at the revelations in the room, the death of the wife he'd actually loved, the multiple attempts on his daughter's life by her own siblings. Lord MacFairland sat on one of the damask sofas, twisting his hands.

Victor had to give it to his father-in-law, he hadn't tried to stop what was inevitable. He stayed out of the way, and out of the blood.

Victor heard screams and smelled fresh blood outside the door. He slammed the hardwood doors open and growled at the scene in front of him. His mate was struggling with ten males, all British Special Forces trained, and they'd barely gotten her pinned down.

Victor counted seven dead or mortally wounded besides the ones holding her. He grinned at her, pride that, even without training, her abilities gave her that big an advantage. The men turned on him as he stood in the door, and even his eyebrow raised at the feral snarl from his mate on the floor.

Lord MacFairland stood behind him, and barked an order to the men. "Stand down!"

The men backed away and Victor held a bloody paw out to his mate. She grabbed it like a lifeline and he helped her to her feet and tucked her under his arm.

"As I said, she's mine!" Victor growled at her father, he just nodded, and turned back to the study. He started to lead her towards the main door.

"Victor, what happened?" She asked.

"I'll explain, after we get you to a doctor." He said softly.

"I"m fine." She growled.

He chuckled, then turned her blood smeared face up to him.

"Yes, you are. It's the cub that isn't." He watched the horror cross her face, and trails of moisture struggle to push through the thick blood smears.

"Why?" She whispered. He picked her up into his arms and carried her out the front doors and to his waiting rental.

"I can answer some of that. But I'd like to wait until after..." he stopped.

"After?"

"After you see the doctor. The cub is dead, I can smell it, but it's still inside of you." He said it softly.

"Another dead child for you to mourn." She whispered.

"Kaitlyn...you are my wife, my mate. There will be other cubs." He growled.

He could smell her tears through the blood as her ancestral home faded in the rear view mirror. He started to talk.

"It was all a plot by your brother and sister. They were using the other girls to perfect the chemicals and equipment. The plan was to have you kidnapped, blame it on me, claim I raped you. They actually waited until they thought I'd gone mad, talking to myself before they authorized your kidnapping."

"They underestimated you." She said quietly.

"They underestimated all of us. Me, you, your father. He's the one that put together the team that tracked you down."

"But you weren't mad."

"I almost was, talking to myself like that is my last ditch effort before the animal takes over and I go completely feral. They didn't know about the crack, they didn't realize how acute our hearing and scent are, and that something so small could give either one of us enough comfort to stay sane."

"It was all to kill me?"

"Well get you pregnant first. They wanted the child to control, and a female feral is only vulnerable at one time, when her healing factor shuts down to give birth."

"What?"

"I just found that part out myself."

"Then why kill it?"

"They knew I'd survived the fire - and that I'd come for you and the cub. Your sister thought if the cub was dead I would leave you and they could try again with a different male later."

XxxxxXx

She leaned back in the seat. It had all been about her, all been to kill her, her own family.

She looked over at him in the faint light from the dash. She could see her family's blood drying on his skin and clothes.

"We should clean up before we go anywhere." She said quietly.

"Already got that covered, rented a house away from a main road, no one should see us come or go." His voice was cool, professional.

Would he leave her, he'd left Jez because she was forced on him.

"Do you..." She started, twisting the stone ring on her hand. She'd fought for weeks to keep it, even killed a man to keep him from taking it off her hand.

His large hand covered both of hers.

"Leave it, I've got another to replace it when we go to the priest."

"You don't have..." She started.

"You tryin ta get rid of me?" He asked, the teasing tone he'd used in the cell to keep her spirits up eased her mind now.

"Naa, just don't want ya thinking I'm easy." She smiled her first real smile in weeks.

"Darlin, ya killed at least seven men that I counted just ta get to me, I know you ain't easy. Glad its your pa that has ta explain that one to the Prime Minister and Bess, not me." He chuckled as he turned from the paved road they were on.

He sounded proud. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, and put it from her mind for now. A small cottage with a lit porch seemed to spring out of the darkness and he pulled into the drive. Around back he signaled her to stay in the car. She waited until he signaled her to come in the back door.

He closed the door behind her and led the way upstairs. He pointed to a door. "That's your room, for now, wanna get a doc ta look at you."

Her room? This man kept confusing her. She walked into the room, it was comfortable with a high double bed and its own bathroom. She started to peel her blood caked clothes off. She didn't even realize she was crying until the door opened and he pulled her tightly into his arms.

"Don't ever think I don't want you." He whispered against her hair. "This is just until we get you to the doctor and a couple of days for you to recover. I've been through this before, remember. I know you are going to need some time."

She just sobbed. He guided her to the bathroom and helped her out of her clothes.

"Kitten, can you do this, or do you need me to help." She could hear a strain in his voice.

"I'll be fine." She whispered. He put a finger under her chin and she looked up at him. His eyes were nearly black and he leaned in. His lips were soft, not demanding, coaxing her to open to him. She whimpered. His hands stroked her skin.

"That wasn't a good idea, Kitten." He said, as he pulled away. "I want you whole, I want you clinging to me because you want to, not because you think you have no other choice."

"I do want you." She whispered. He groaned, and kissed her again. She could feel him against her, twitching and throbbing, the still slightly damp cloth sticking to her skin.

"Even covered in your families' blood" he said, his voice hard.

"Yes." She wasn't going to lie to him, the surge of both pride and need she'd felt when he ripped those doors open and she saw him, smelled the twins' blood all over him. Smelled his rage, and then lust when he saw her, I'd she hadn't been at the bottom of the dog pile, she just might have ripped his clothes off then.

"I don't want this for you, Kitten." He whispered. He pulled slowly away from her and pushed her toward the shower.

"Tonight we deal with the cub, tomorrow we'll deal with the rest."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

The Emergency Room at the Clairmore Memorial Hospital was crowded. He wanted to growl at the nurse, but even he couldn't argue with trying to save the living first. They were finally put in a small room, and he sat there holding her hand as the doctor examined her.

"Your suspicion was right, we're going to have to do a D&C to clear the uterus." The doctor said. "I'm going to admit her tonight, but you won't be able to stay with her. We can do the procedure in the morning, and you can come during visiting hours tomorrow."

"That's not going to work." He growled, he wasn't going to be separated from her, not now.

"I can't put her in a private room, you don't have private insurance." The doctor said, firmly.

"I own the damned hospital." He growled back.

He heard Kaitlyn laughing as the doctor crumbled before him. Ten minutes later they were in a comfortable room with a chair bed for him to sleep in next to her bed. He waited until all the admin staff and doctors left, before letting the humor hit him as well.

"I guess I told them." He said gruffly. She laughed.

"You sure did, Kitten."

He just glared at her, and then chuckled. Guess she told him.


	11. Chapter 11

Her second day in the hospital, she woke slowly, the sound of his heartbeat steady as he slept in the chair next to her bed. She took the time to slowly examine him, really the first chance she'd had. He wore his hair short, almost military short, but she knew it would grow out to a mane like riot of curl. She remembered that from the lab. His hands had claw like fingernails, she'd seen them extended, and covered in blood. His eyes were closed, and she knew she'd have to wait to find out what color they really were, but his rugged features were very pleasant to look at, not a pretty boy by any means. His chin was sharp, with a cleft, and his muttonchops were dark and rough, and she wanted to run her fingertips over them.

He stirred, and those eyes opened, they were steel grey and locked on hers immediately.

"You're awake." He said.

"Have been for a few minutes." She smiled. He just looked at her, making her slightly uncomfortable.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've been better." She said, smile fading.

"Are you able to travel? We still need to get to London and talk to Bess about this whole hand fasting thing."

Her stomach dropped. She wasn't exactly sure who he meant when he said Bess, but suddenly all his stories added up and she thought she might have more than an inkling, and she felt her nerves start to jangle.

"London?"

"That's where they keep the Queen, last I heard." He grinned suddenly and she saw his fangs. For some reason that was reassuring and she grinned back.

"Bess, huh?"

"Yep…some little rule about having to have her permission to marry, being a Duke and all." She blushed. That part she'd forgotten, even when he'd told them he owned the hospital.

"Well, yeah I guess…" she prevaricated, glancing at the crude limestone ring on her hand. His was still on his finger as well, and she wondered if he really wanted it there.

"Woman, will you get that shit out of your head. I'm in this, unless you want it ended, you're stuck with me so get fuckin' used to it." He practically shouted the last as he leaned over her in the bed.

"I don't want ta get rid of ya, ya bloomin' yank." She shouted back, and was startled by his laughing breath against her cheek. She'd risen on the bed, looking him straight in the eye, noses brushing. She grabbed his muttonchops with both hands and pulled him in, tasting his lips, really for the first time. She'd been too tired and confused after their first kiss to really savor it, and this time all senses were deeply involved.

He tasted like smoke and the copper tang of blood and a wild free thing never to be tamed. She could smell his scent, really for the first time, not tinged with fear or madness, just pure Victor, earthy and pine, musky as his arousal began to rise against her thigh. The rough texture of the hair against her palms itched, and made her want to rub her hands against it for relief. She could hear his heartbeat accelerate, throbbing in time with the growing bulge and she smiled.

She might not ever measure up to his past, but he was her future and she was grabbing on with both hands and never letting go.

XXXXXXXXXXX

So far in twenty four hours she'd called him Kitten and Yank, this new wife of his needed discipline…until he lost himself in her lips, her mouth, her taste. She wasn't holding anything back, and his claws tangled deep into her blood red hair. She was his, completely; it was in her taste, her scent.

"Darlin' we either need ta get movin' or your real wedding night is goin' ta be in this hospital bed." He growled. He felt the blood rush to her cheeks and chuckled. She pushed him away and reached to remove the hospital gown.

He jumped away, he'd seen her naked only a twice, and neither had been under the best of circumstances, he wanted to wait, give her that mystery for when he finally really claimed her. He heard her heart skip, and mentally kicked himself. He always hated this part, the beginning, the one time he ever felt unsure, unable to find the right words, the right way to ease into things. He kept his back turned, while she dressed behind him.

"Kaitlyn, we're in this together, we have been from the beginning, I couldn't walk away now if I tried." He started. "There ain't ever gonna be another woman for me, so just get used to it."

"Yeah, I think you tried that line on Marion." She quipped behind him. The rustle of cloth had stopped so he turned. She was wearing the jeans and T-shirt he'd picked up before going to her family estate, the ones she'd changed into after the bloodbath.

"Where the hell did the Hellcat come from." He growled, stalking across to the bed, trapping her between him and it.

"I think she's always been here, it just took a Sabretooth to bring her out."

Finis

A/N Okay so no lemons, not even a little lemonade, but somehow, I think this future needs to be left to the imagination.


End file.
